Retribution of a Fallen God
by VampireGRose
Summary: Three years have past since Kira's downfall, and the Shinigami King wonders if his realm lacks entertainment. Light Yagami awakens in the Shinigami world and is given a choice: spend eternity in nothingness or become the king's champion and win back his name. But who must Light work beside to regain his freedom?
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

* * *

There's a world unlike our own where the sky is always gray and bones scatter the land, untouched. Where no man walks and no animal sings. Where no water runs and no plant grows. This is the world of the gods.

And in this world sits a hierarchy of many formidable beings. Some tall and lanky, others short and round, but each more powerful than any mortal. Some cultures call them many creatures of folklore, but they seem to prefer the term Shinigami, an East Asian word meaning "death spirit."

At the peak of this hierarchy rests the Shinigami King. Like his kin, he doesn't take the form of a human. Not many underlings know the truth about his sex or his being. Those who have seen him describe a skull with its mouth gaped wide, as if stuck in an obscene yawn, and another skull's head wedged between its teeth, a massive, blob body suspended by chains, and four arms with claw-like extensions for hands. One of these extensions opens a hole the king has been using as a makeshift pool to spy on the memories of the infamous Kira. A mortal god the humans feared and worshipped equally for six years until his reign came to a screeching halt nearly three years ago.

The king circles one claw-like finger around in the pool. The memories shift from before the mortal god was born to when his name had first been spoken through someone's lips. The principle object that belonged to the world of gods—a Death Note—had fallen into the hands of the mortal and given him power. He watches Kira scribble name after name through pages of the same notebook, and each person with the associated name perish. If Kira had been born a god this number of victims could have gifted him eternal life, perhaps. The king observes the mortal's life through over six years as a prisoner to the notebook. Kira proclaims himself a bringer of justice not evil, a harbinger of a utopia not a dystopia, a god among mortals not an antichrist. But it's not all the madness and killings that interests the king. It's the lengths in which this human, absent any significant power aside from the Death Note, manages to go to become what he so desperately seeks to be. The god king watches the memories until the mortal's very last breath, and then all that sits in front of him is an empty pool.

"Kira," he muses. The name sounds forbidding, almost as powerful as the god king himself. He scoffs. No creature could ever compare to him, especially, a human. But the more he thinks about this mortal's actions, the more intrigued he becomes. Perhaps, as Ryuk had explained during his trial, humans are far more interesting than they appear.

Ryuk. He's the one who caused such a mortal being to come into power. The god king hadn't seen his underling since after Kira's death. Not since the trial, when he removed Ryuk's eyes and the Death Note from his possession.

The king looks out at his domain. His underlings sit around, ambling their way from place to place, occasionally engaging in hobbies like gambling. Is this the world worthy of gods? Fearsome? Competitive? Entertaining? Is this what he's created? It looks like nothing more than a dry, monotonous wasteland.

He removes his finger from the empty pool and calls for the one who he had punished.

Flapping sounds like a great bird fly overhead, and Ryuk lands gingerly in front of his ruler. With his Shinigami power ripped from him, his eyes are a pair of empty, yellow orbs.

"Wassup, Gramps?" the lesser god says. "You need to take something else from me? My head, maybe?"

While the words come out in a mixture of sarcasm and disrespect, the god king forgives them. "Not this time, Ryuk. I only ask for information."

"Information?"

"The mortal you followed during your stay in the human realm. Did you intentionally drop the Death Note for only him to find?"

"Nope. Had no idea who'd pick it up. Kind of funny how things happened, isn't it?" Ryuk cackles.

The god king makes a sound similar to a groan. "Ryuk, do you miss this mortal?"

Ryuk cocks his head to the side. "Why do you say that, Gramps?"

"Our kind sit day after day, year after year, delaying their deaths by playing tedious games and observing the human world. I fear moral has become low. We are gods, are we not? Surely we should have some form of entertainment. I wonder if the humans are more entertaining than we are. Do you believe this?"

Ryuk scratches his chin and nods. "Yeah. That's why I left."

"I see."

Silence wedges between them.

"What would you think if I brought that sort of entertainment here?"

Ryuk wonders if he misheard his creator. It has been nearly three years since he wrote Kira's true name in his Death Note. When he told the story at his trial, some of his kind couldn't fathom such a being existing in the human world. A being that committed murder and called it justice. A being that overcame almost every obstacle in his way for the sake of his desires, his lust for immortality. Then again, humans are driven by desire and lust. Things Shinigami normally don't possess. That's what makes them so thrilling.

"It would have to be the right kind of entertainment," Ryuk replies. "Enough to make Shinigami impressed."

"What kind of entertainment do you propose?"

Ryuk considers. "One with high-stakes."

"Then it's decided," his creator says. "I'll need a champion."

"Champion?"

The god king raises one claw-like appendage and reaches into the pool. He pulls out a Death Note. Ryuk's Death Note.

Ryuk raises his head as his creator sifts through the notebook's pages. The god king stops on a page, and Ryuk could have sworn he saw a glimmer in the skull's eye. He turns the notebook around.

Ryuk's grin extends. "This'll be fun."

The name reads Light Yagami.

* * *

 **A/N** : Welp, here it is ladies and gentlemen. The beginning of my very first longer work. This'll be updated on a weekly basis, so every Saturday, unless said otherwise. Please let me know your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

1\. AWAKENING

* * *

Before his eyes open, he hears chains rattle and knows he is somewhere he doesn't want to be. Thick, squishy sounds like something being born encompass his hearing. A chill of fear washes over him.

 _Is this death?_

He attempts to breathe in and feels no clean oxygen enter his lungs, but a sharp cough escapes. In his left breast cavity comes no thumping. Without oxygen or a beating heart, what can he call himself other than dead?

But he's not dead. Not in the natural sense of the word, at least. He's something else.

He pulls his eyelids open with force. A sticky substance wraps around his naked body like a blanket. It's red and moist like blood. A metallic taste enters his mouth. It _is_ blood.

Above him sits an echoing, high ceiling with walls made out of bone and rock. Chains rattle again, and his eyes focus.

"You've awoken," says a booming voice like thunder. "Do you remember your name?"

He sits up, still disoriented. _Name_? _I have a name_? And then he finds the source of the voice. Two red eyes perch within a gaping maw. They glare down at him hungrily like some predator stalking its injured prey. A shudder runs through his body.

"Do you?" the voice echoes.

He opens his mouth but hesitates. He doesn't remember his name or the name with which he identified himself as. He shakes his head.

"Hmm…" The eyes wander down, and he follows them to a large, claw-like appendage that reaches into a hole in the ground and pulls something out. "Perhaps this will prove helpful." The claw opens the notebook and flips to a page before showing him.

Despite having no previous knowledge of written language, he understands the name perfectly.

 _Light Yagami._

All of a sudden, the words, the language, the images, the voices, the life he had, the world he knew comes rushing into him in a wild tornado. One moment he has no knowledge of anything, and then in the next, he knows everything. He sits up, peeling the embryotic blanket off his skin piece-by-piece. Gurgles arise in the pit of his stomach and escape his mouth in victorious laughter.

"I'm alive! I'm alive, you fuckers! You fuckers couldn't kill me!" The laughter ricochets off the walls and shakes the ground. "Fuck you, Near! Fuck you, Matsuda! Fuck you, Ryuk! I'm _alive_!"

"Oh, is that what you believe?"

His laughter abruptly ceases. Light looks up at the pair of glowing, red orbs. A part of him wants to tense, but he tells himself that any signs of weakness in front of a unknown enemy may be his downfall.

"Do you know who I am?" the voice asks.

Light tries to stand, but his legs shake. He stumbles like a newborn deer and falls to one knee. Given the voice, the red eyes, and the blob-like body, he has some idea of who or what rests before him. "You're a Shinigami, aren't you?"

"Yes."

He goes to stand again and this time manages to steady himself. "Not just any Shinigami. You must be the ruler." He surveys their surroundings with his deep-set eyes. "And this must be the Shinigami world."

"You're quite impressive. You've never met me or been to the Shinigami world, yet you recognized me and this place accurately." The claw-like hand closes the book. "I've watched you for a long time, Light Yagami. I pulled you out of nothingness because I was intrigued by how capable you were with the Death Note. How many lengths you went to get what you wanted. You would have succeeded too if not for your arrogance."

The word stings. Light remembers that day in the warehouse—his final day. The place smelled of metal and soot, and made his throat dry. He remembers how at one moment he felt a glorious victory so great he wanted to gloat from the tallest mountain in the world. But in the next moment, his entire world, and all that he had built, had been ripped from him. An enfant terrible called Near had destroyed his beautiful, pure, and justified paradise.

"If I'm so arrogant," Light says, "then why bring me back? You couldn't have pulled me out of nothingness just to compliment and then ridicule me, could you?" He glares back at the red orbs, challenging them.

A rumble escapes the god king's body, a chuckle. "Because it's that arrogance and selfish mind that makes for grand entertainment." He opens the book again, and Light watches as the characters in his name begin to move, as if dancing. "That is why I have chosen you as my champion, Light Yagami."

His eyes widen. "Champion?" He first imagines a gladiator in an arena, like the ones from Ancient Rome, with a sword and shield in either hand battling his way through opponents with each bloodied swing. Light had done his fair share of sports throughout high school and college and excelled in them all. But to put a sword and shield in his hands and expect him to know exactly how to fight makes him swallow hard.

The god king notices. "You're concerned?"

 _Damn right I'm concerned._ He wants to say. "Are you only saying that because you would enjoy watching me die again?"

"If I wanted you dead, I would have left you in nothingness. I would have let your soul spiral down in an eternal darkness without purpose. Observe." The king's finger reaches out and points at him. The characters in Light's name continue dancing in a mocking gesture, and then they stop.

Almost instantaneously, Light feels immense pressure on his chest, as if someone is sitting on him. He clutches his body and drops into a fetal position. The pressure grows until he feels nothing but incredible, electrifying pain sweep through him. A cry builds up in his throat but comes out as hollow gags.

"You see?" the booming voice says, and the red eyes glimmer. "There's nothing stopping me from ending you right now." The finger drops, and so does the pressure on Light's body.

He collapses. "Then what…do you want from me?"

The god king releases a hiss, sighing. "I've ruled over the Shinigami world for an inexplicable amount of time. Perhaps as long as the mortal world has been in existence. Perhaps longer. This entire time I've watched my kin spend their days playing meaningless games and extending their lives by taking the lives from others." The tone lowers, as if despondent. "Our only form of entertainment has been watching mortals. So I want to bring that entertainment here. I want my lesser Shinigami to know the benefits of godhood. I want them to enjoy their power. I want them to know what it feels like to be divine. You, Light Yagami, are going to remind them of that."

Light stands. His mouth drops, and then he composes himself. "So I am to be some plaything for you to use?"

"Precisely."

"And I have nothing to gain from this?"

The claws open the notebook again. "No, you have plenty to gain from this. If you prove your value to me and to my lesser gods, I shall grant you what no other god is capable of giving." Light is shown his name again. "Your freedom." The characters in his name start swirling in circles, coaxing him.

Light frowns. "Even if I were to accept such a request. How do I know you will grant me freedom? What does freedom mean to a Shinigami?"

The chains rustle, and the voice groans. "Freedom means you are no longer a slave to the Death Note. Freedom means your name can never be written in here again. Freedom means immortality."

The final word hits him like a bolt of lightning that energizes his entire being. Immortality. It almost rejuvenates him to the point he mistakenly feels his heart beat. Light knows he cannot trust the Shinigami king. Anyone who has the power to end someone else's life is untrustworthy. But if he rejects this offer, he'll return to nothingness like a coward. Cowards give up too easily. Cowards are weak. No, he's no coward.

Light nods. "Very well, I'll be your champion."

A rumble shakes the ground. Another laugh. "Excellent choice." With a flick of the god king's wrist, Light feels heaviness on his shoulders. He wraps the black long coat around himself and buttons it up. "Now allow me to explain the rules." The king holds the notebook up. "This Death Note will act as your phylactery. As long as it's in existence, you cannot die. However, you must not use it either. If you write in it or order someone else to write in it, you will die. If it is destroyed somehow, you will die. Think of it as a life source that is out of reach."

"If I'm unable to use it, how will I be able to erase my name?"

"Your name will dissolve the more time you spend repenting for your past life's sins."

 _What sins_? Light scoffs. _I was merely trying to create a world free of pain and suffering. Is that not what a god is meant to do_?

The god king pauses. "I see arrogance in your eyes. You don't believe you've done wrong?"

Light tightens his jaw.

"Your ideals began righteously enough, but your ego took over the moment you proclaimed yourself above all others. You justified yourself as a god in order to kill. In the end, the dream you so desperately pursued died with you, and the rest of the world moved on like always."

The words sting more than the previous insult. But Light knows the past cannot be reformed. If he's to restart his life, he must allow the god king to impose any challenges, no matter how difficult. And Light in return must invoke fealty. That is his only method of survival for now.

The god king continues, "Whoever holds this notebook, you will serve. If the owner finds your services worthwhile or if the owner somehow dies, the notebook will pass to your next master, and then the next and so forth, until your name has erased entirely."

Light lets these rules sink into him as if becoming a part of him. How the game has changed. He chuckles. In his first life, he was the chess player, and in this life he is now the pawn. His arms cross over his chest. "All right. Who will be my first master?"

"That will be decided at random. Once the Death Note has been picked up, you must search for your master. You have a limited amount of time."

All of a sudden, the walls and ground begin to shake. It feels like an earthquake. Light stumbles but holds his footing as the rocks before him spilt apart to reveal a gaping hole. Upon closer inspection, he notices a city of stone pillars and bones. The king returns Light's attention onto him and drops the Death Note into the city. It falls so far that Light loses track of its landing point.

"What you see before you is the City of Gods. The place where all Shinigami dwell when they are not watching mortals. This will be your playing ground."

 _Playing ground_. He likes the tone of it. Light feels a smirk crawl up his face but hides it from view. If he's to act the part, he must look the part—submissive and slightly worrisome. He tenses his body.

"Are you ready to begin?"

Light steps to the edge of the cliff, prepared to leap.

"Not so fast, Light Yagami." The god king snaps two claws together, and the gaping hole closes up. "You will find your own way to the City of Gods, and your own way to the Death Note and its current owner."

Light frowns and then composes himself. Without technology or Intel, he may have trouble finding this place within the entire Shinigami world. "How do you suggest I search for it?"

The god king pauses, perhaps in deep thought. His red pupils grow as if he's come upon a grand idea. "You will not be alone on your journey. I will have someone help you on the way to your Death Note."

Light's first thought is Ryuk, the one who took his life and wrote his name down in the Death Note like he had always promised. His hands curl into fists, not sure if he's willing to cooperate with the one who condemned him to death. Though a part of him is curious to see Ryuk now that the Shinigami no longer has the power to determine his fate.

The god king's eyes shrink and extend in quick motion as if blinking rapidly. A piercing pain hits Light's stomach, and he feels an overwhelming desire to vomit. He hunches forward and pukes a pool of blood. He gags, drops to his hands and knees, and pukes more and more until he's swimming in his own bodily fluids. What the hell is going on? Is this some form of punishment? What has he done wrong?

When it seems as if he'll drown, Light spits out the last of his blood and wipes his mouth with the heel of his hand. Something stirs inside the pool. Light inches forward to see a wiggling mass of meaty flesh about the size of his hand. A pair of red eyes open and stare at him. A scream escapes the wiggling mass that Light can only compare to a piglet being gutted alive.

"What…the hell?"

The screaming mass quiets down and shivers, seemingly cold. Light isn't sure if he should pick it up or leave it be. He notices the pool of blood being absorbed into the shivering mass of eyeballs and flesh. When he reaches a hand to touch it, the thing snaps at him with razor-sharp fangs it has attained from feasting on his blood. Its body stretches out in four directions, arms and legs.

Light stands and takes several steps back as the fleshy mass crawls along the ground like a baby. "What is this thing?"

"That is a manifestation between all the evil and bitterness within your heart and the memories you have of the one you deemed your equal," the god king answers very matter-of-factly. "That is what you must work beside during your retribution, Light Yagami."

Light watches in a mixture of horror and disbelief as the mass of flesh stands to his level, almost to his height, and the pair of eyes moves into place on top of the head. Pasty skin that has never seen the light of day covers every inch of meaty flesh. Thick, raven hair grows long so the red eyes peek through. A dark cloak that moves like a living being wraps around the pale body. A mouth, eyebrows and a nose form into a scowl. The red eyes deepen to black.

Once the transformation has finished, Light cannot fathom who he's looking at. His mouth parts, and the name hangs on the tip of his tongue. Finally, he finds the courage to speak.

"Ryuzaki?"

Before the name even leaves his lips, the pale body flies across the room and cuts Light's abdomen like a knife to bread.

* * *

 **A/N** : So, what did you guys think of that "birth" scene? I had a beta reader let me know it's probably one of the most weirdest yet grossly satisfying resurrection scenes she's ever read, and I'm oddly proud of it. Anyway, let me know your thoughts and stay tuned for more next weekend!


	3. Chapter 3

2\. REUNION

* * *

 **A/N** : I'd like to thank any reviews and feedback thus far. A few of you have asked me the frequent question: Is Light going to get revenge on Near? Without spoiling, I will say that Light is certainly the Light from canon, and Near will make an appearance in this fiction at a later time. For now, the main focus is on Light and "L"'s relationship and cooperative abilities.

With that said, hope you enjoy this next chapter! :)

* * *

It happens so fast, Light's brain doesn't register the pain until the upper half of his body has fallen to the ground, leaving the lower half standing like a broken statue. His organs splatter across the rocks—his intestines act like a long rope connecting his upper body to his lower body. The light from his eyes extinguishes, leaving behind two dull shells. The last thing he sees is the face of the person who did this to him.

Light wakes with a jolt, sitting up and feeling his abdomen where he had been sliced open. No scar. No bleeding. No organs lying around. Nothing. Had he hallucinated?

"It was no ghost," the booming voice says with a rumbling laugh. "You were cut in half."

Light follows a figure in his peripheral vision. The pale body stands staring with eyes that could only belong to the devil. Light's body tenses and shakes. He tries to calm himself but can't. Fear washes over him. This person, no, this thing couldn't be the person he worked beside in life. A beast stands before him, and his body is telling him to run.

But he can't run. The moment he moves, the beast takes two steps forward, prepared to lunge for his throat this time. It'll be upon him again before he can find an escape route.

All he can do is freeze and hope it doesn't attack him. Even though his body somehow repaired itself, Light still remembers everything—the pain especially, the sight of his organs, the knowledge that this thing can kill him again and again with ease. He needs to think of something to say quick lest he find his head disconnected to his neck.

"Ryuzaki…no wait, L, don't you remember me?" A weak smile appears on his face. "I'm Light. I'm your friend. Your _first_ friend."

The pale body raises its head as if in recognition.

His smile extends and tears fill his eyes. "See? Don't you remember? We were friends. We worked together to track down Kira. We worked together to protect justice. We worked together to defeat our enemies."

"Ki…ra." The pale body steps forward. "Kira. Kira. Kira." It stands a few feet away from Light.

Light looks up at its face, and his smile dissolves.

"Kira…Kira." The face hovers within inches of his. "You are Kira."

Two pale hands grab either side of Light's face, nails digging into his skin. He goes to scream but blood clogs his throat. Either thumb digs into his eye sockets, squeezing them apart. The nails crack his skull. His head explodes.

This time when he wakes, Light jumps to his feet and presses his back against the nearest wall. Sweat drips from his forehead. The pale body stands several lengths away.

"Please," Light begs, holding up a hand in a feeble attempt to protect himself. "Please, no more! I'll do whatever you wish! _Please_!"

The pale body doesn't see moved and advances toward him.

Light's eyes widen, and he shrinks. " _No_!"

"That's enough."

The pale body stops and looks up at the god king.

"He appears to understand what you're capable of doing to him. Your task is to help him find his Death Note." The god king directs his attention to Light. "Those two deaths were to set an example. Should you die again, you'll die for real. If you wish to free yourself, you must work together as equals. The stronger the bond, the more chance you have of success."

Light stands. How could he ever work with something so primal and horrifying? He begins to realize this retribution is more like a prison sentence he must carry out than an attempt at freedom. He remains defensive. "How do I know it won't keep attacking and killing me?"

"I don't," the god king says. "But if you put in the effort, you may have a very capable ally with you on your journey."

 _A capable ally, he says_? Light stifles a laugh. How could something so intent on killing him ever become capable of anything else? Let alone helping him. But Light decides to play along in hopes to keep his head this time. He wipes sweat from his forehead. "All right, I'll see what I can do. Is there anything else I should know?"

"You have three days to find the current owner of your Death Note. Remember, in that time you must either serve them until they have handed the notebook to the next owner or you have defeated the current owner. That's all I will leave you with for now," the god king says.

The walls and ground shake again, and Light wonders if it's another hole opening up or an actual earthquake. He cranes his neck around to see a wall open a doorway to the outside.

"Take care on your journey, Light Yagami. I hope you won't be a disappointment."

Light has a retort, but he holds it in and bows his head to the god king. "Thank you for this opportunity." He pauses and lifts his head. "What name may I call you?"

"There is no name that I am called," the god king says with pride. "Not even by my lesser Shinigami. But you, no longer mortal nor truly immortal, may address me as Kami."

It translates to god—the same title that once belonged to Light. He knows the name isn't the god king's true identity. It's meant to mock Light. Nevertheless, he bows again. "Very well, Kami. I shall prove to be your entertainment." Light glances over at the pale body. It hasn't moved from its spot and still watches him with those dull eyes. The longer Light looks, the more he wants to leave. He turns to the exit and walks toward it, hoping that no eye contact or direct conversation will keep him alive. He doesn't walk too fast or slow. He imagines he's walking into a business meeting, very formal and interested but not too overzealous in appearance. With Light's attention fixated on the opening, the pale body doesn't rush him.

"Oh, on the contrary," Kami's booming voice rattles the chains, "there is one more important detail you must know before departing."

Light stops and feels a burning sensation on the back of his shoulder. His teeth grit together. It feels as if someone is pressing a hot iron to his skin. When the pain lightens, he cranes his neck around to see the scarred tissue on his flesh. The brand is shaped like the letter L.

"That brand officially ties you and your familiar together. It cannot be removed under any circumstances."

The pale body steps forward and approaches Light. Light shrinks, fearing it may pluck out his heart and show it to him. Instead, the pale body passes by him and exits the cave.

Light blinks, gives himself a moment to recuperate and then leaves.

Outside the cave sits a wide valley that stretches as far as the eye can see. Tall mountainous rocks create a wall that neither Shinigami nor human can climb over. A long staircase of bones and rock leads into the heart of the valley. Light notices the pale body descending and follows.

Silence wedges between them for the majority of the descent. Kami's advice lingers in Light's head—the brand, the bond, the Death Note. It boggles his mind that the thing walking in front of him has taken the form of his greatest adversary and competitor in life. How can he learn to work with something that has no desire to work with him? How can he converse without getting his throat slit?

He stops about halfway down the stairs. No, if the only way to get him his freedom is to work side-by-side with this thing then he needs to try harder. He needs to break the barrier that is triggering this manifestation to attack him so violently.

Light closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath. If he's going to play this game, he's got to have an ally. Even if that ally is hell-bent on killing him. "Ryuzaki," he says. "Can we please talk?"

The pale body stops several steps below but doesn't turn around.

"Do you remember anything from your past life?" Light asks. "If not, what do you know?" They are two simple questions that aren't necessarily related to him. Here's hoping there's a reply of words not claws.

"Ryuzaki," a voice like ice echoes. "Why do you call me that?"

"It's the name you…" Light considers his words. "The name I was told to call the person who you resemble."

The pale body begins to turn, and Light drops his gaze to the ground before those eyes catch him looking. "Ryuzaki. Who was he to you?"

The memories wash over Light like a wave from the ocean. He remembers meeting a man named Hideki Ryuga at the college entrance exams, who scored perfectly like he did. He remembers how "Hideki Ryuga" introduced himself as L, the famous detective on the Kira case. He recalls their tennis match, losing his memories, the Yotsuba Group investigation, regaining his memories, and finally ordering Rem to—

Light presses his lips together and raises his head. "He was my equal."

"Was?"

"He died."

"Because you killed him?"

Light thinks fast. Should he lie about this part? No, he shouldn't. Lies won't solve this tension. Lies will only get him into trouble. "I ordered someone to kill him for me, yes."

The pale body ascends a step. "Who?"

"A Shinigami."

"Which Shinigami?" The pale body comes dangerously close to his face.

Light licks his lips. "Her name was Rem."

"Rem." Its finger lifts and presses against its bottom blue-colored lip. "Is that so?" It nods its head. "Very well."

Even before Light can explain what had happened next, the manifestation leaps from the stairs and falls over a hundred feet into the valley below.


	4. Chapter 4

3\. DECAY

* * *

Landing softly on the ground below, the creature feels the hard stone between its toes and peels a few pebbles off its soles. A horrible stench enters the nostrils, and the creature wrinkles its nose in dismay. A sneeze, and the stench leaves momentarily. Rocks. Skeletons. Disease. A gray sky. A black heart. This truly is a rotten world.

 _Why do I exist?_

 _Why am I alive?_

 _Why was I created?_

"A Shinigami. Her name was Rem," Light's voice echoes. And despite all the fire inside telling it to kill him a thousands time over, all it desires now is the truth about its birth.

 _Rem._

 _She must know._

One step at a time, the creature ambles through the wasteland of bone and ash, endlessly searching for the one named Rem. But the search takes it over vast amounts of terrain, and it finds itself seeing the same images two or three times in a row. Frustration builds up inside its core.

Laughing reverberates through the world. The creature looks up at a cliff and sees at a pair of moving figures lounging around a blue fire. Upon closer inspection, the pair have jewelry and clothing hanging off their bodies. The creature scales the cliff and approaches.

"Where's Rem?"

They look up.

One with rows of serrated teeth and large, fish eyes says, "Who?" It scratches its scaly skin.

"Rem, the Shinigami. Where is she?"

Both exchange glances.

"You mean Rem, the fourth-ranking Shinigami?" the slug without eyes and golden jewelry asks. "She's been dead for years." It brings its finger to its mouth. "Yup, sounds about right. Got herself killed writing down a couple of names to extend some human's life."

The other one nods. "Right, I remember now. Shame. She was a shrewd one. The creator liked her a lot. Wouldn't have taken her for a human sympathizer."

They ramble on about Rem until the creature has had enough. It grabs the fish-eyed one and lifts it into the air. "Where can I find Rem?"

"You c-can't…find someone who's d-dead!"

The creature releases it, and it scurries away with its friend. The blue fire crackles, and the creature takes a seat.

 _No more Rem?_

 _No way to find out my identity._

The creature looks down at its pale hands, the hands that twice killed Light Yagami. Perhaps they are capable of killing—

One hand reaches into the cloak and pierces the skin. A sharp pain extends through its body, but the creature pays no mind. Its pointer finger and thumb peel apart the skin and muscle to open up the chest cavity like in a dissection. It notices a hand-sized mass beneath the ribcage and snaps a few bones to reach in and grab onto the heart. There's no beat. With a hard tug it severs the organ from its arteries. The creature slumps forward, and the world goes dark.

* * *

Light touches the last stair and curses to himself. No sign of Ryuzaki within sight. Wait, no. That thing isn't Ryuzaki. That thing is no more than a cheap and violent imitation. It's more like a child, if anything.

He doesn't know where to go. A long wasteland of nothing sits before him and seems to go on as far as the stone mountains. He groans but then realizes this may be for the better. He doesn't need to worry about that thing. That thing could go and rot away somewhere, while Light continues on to the City of Gods. All he needs is someone willing enough to show him. There has to be a Shinigami in the number that dwell within this foggy world willing enough.

Light walks for a time, searching ever crevice or hole where a Shinigami may be found. He meets a few, but they all give him the same answer:

"Piss off, dog."

Dog. Is that what his title has been reduced to? Is that as far he has fallen? He's not even human to these beings but an animal. A pet. What Light would give to have the Death Note in his hand. What he would give to have the power to kill Shinigami by writing their names down. What he would give to take the god king's place.

Light freezes. The thought crosses his mind several times over, and a feeling of utter jubilance overwhelms him. It builds in his stomach and extends out to his limbs like blood coursing through his veins.

 _Take the god king's place? Yes, that sounds like a fine treat. Once I have reclaimed my name, I'll take that blob's spot._

A snicker starts in the pit of his chest and releases into a burst of laughter. "Yes, yes. That sounds fantastic!" With the power of a god king, he could never die. With the power of a god king, everyone, human and Shinigami, would revere and fear him. Nobody would oppose a true god of death.

Just as a plan begins formulating in his mind, two figures appear in Light's peripheral vision. Two small-sized Shinigami, clothed and embroidered with jewelry, come running toward his direction.

"Is it after us?"

"Who fucking cares? Keep running!"

As the space between Light and them thins, Light deduces they may be able to help him. He steps in their path.

"Oh shit," the Shinigami with fish eyes says, "there's another one."

The slug-like Shinigami with golden jewelry hanging off its fat neck surveys its surroundings. "How many are there?"

 _Another one_? Light's eyes widen. "Excuse me, may I ask what you are running from?"

They both look at each other, as if surprised.

"A-are you going to attack us, too?" The fish-eyed Shinigami backs up into its partner, who hides behind it. Their bodies shake in unison.

Light already knows who's responsible. "No, of course not. I'd actually like to ask you two a question: Do you know where I can find the City of Gods?"

The jewelry-clad slug hisses, "How do we know you won't attack us if we tell you?"

Light sighs. When he thought he could rid himself of this manifestation, he finds himself being dragged back toward it like some dog on a leash. "I could find and take care of whatever has attacked you. As payment, I'd like you to take me to the city."

"You don't want to confront that thing. It'll rip you to shreds."

He nods. "So I've heard."

The fish-eyed one points him in the direction. "Look for a blue fire on a cliff. It should be around there."

"Understood."

With that, Light heads across more wasteland, around a few large rocks and through a trench before noticing thick, black smoke rising from a higher elevation. All of a sudden, the brand on his shoulder pulses like a heart beat. He staggers but keeps his footing. Another pulse, and it feels like his back has caught fire. His teeth grit together, trying to resist the pain. The burning intensifies. A thousand knives are peeling his flesh apart. The thousand knives evolve in a thousand needles. The pain grows so excruciating, Light gags.

And as soon as it starts, it quells to nothing. Light stands and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the heel of his hand. _What the hell_?

Kami's words ring in his head. The brand connects them—Light and L's manifestation. An overwhelming desire to strangle something pours into him, but Light takes a few breaths to compose himself before heading toward the thick, black smoke rising into the sky.

A blue fire, like the Shinigami had described, sits crackling at the cliff's peak. Light can overlook the gray world from up here. It reminds him of the times he overlooked his domain in the human world. How everyone below him looked like ants to crush or control. How the sounds of car horns and people yelling somehow brought him comfort. Perhaps it's because he had finished his score with L—the _real_ L. And now he'd have to play the game all over again.

His eyes lower to a black and white ball siting near the fire. He's not sure if the thing is asleep or dead. He hopes the latter. Light approaches with caution and taps the manifestation on the shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

Its hand snatches his wrist and pulls his face close. Their eyes come within inches of each other.

"Who am I?" it asks.

Light remains calm. "You're Ryuzaki."

"Am I?" Its black, soulless orbs stare into him as if searching for any hint of deception. "Or am I some cheap knockoff?"

"You look like Ryuzaki, like L, but you're different," Light explains. "The real Ryuzaki died years ago." He shakes his head. "You're right. You're not him. You were created from me, from my memories of him. You're a memory."

The manifestation's grip on Light's wrist loosens enough for Light to slip his hand free. "Then…what is my purpose?"

Light straightens and runs his fingers through his brown hair. "If you come with me, you may find out."

"I don't want to help you," it hisses.

"I didn't say you have to help me," Light reasons. "I said that you could come with me. Sitting here isn't going to give you your answers." He offers a hand and forces a warm smile. "Does that sound fair?"

Those black eyes watch him with lingering distain and question. The manifestation raises its hand and swats Light's away. It stands. "We'll see about that." It starts down the rocky cliff.

"You'll need a name."

"Ryuzaki will suffice, since that's the person you say I resemble."

Light doesn't like it. "Very well."

* * *

 **A/N** : So the point of this chapter is mainly to get a sense of the switching POVs. I think this is also meant to continue the battle between understanding whether "Ryuzaki" is L or a new, composite character. Thoughts? ;-)


	5. Chapter 5

4\. PASSAGE

* * *

The brand seems to be the single thing that connects them. It aches as a reminder to Light that while he has a goal in mind, he won't get anywhere near it still being tied to this monstrosity. Light traces the L along his the back of his shoulder and winces when his finger presses down. He notices Ryuzaki flinch. Curious, he presses harder until his nail digs into the brand, and it bleeds. He fights through the pain as he watches the thing walking in front of him hunch farther forward as if in pain. It's shoulders shake and legs weaken.

Ryuzaki stops and turns to face him. "Do you enjoy masochism, Yagami-kun?"

Light moves his hand away. "What?"

Before he can say anything else, a cold hand snatches him by the neck and lifts him off his feet. Light claws at the hand but can't break free.

"I'm not sure if I'm able to kill you, Yagami-kun. But I am able to break every bone in your body until you're nothing more than a pile of agonized meat on the ground. So if you want my cooperation, I suggest you leave the brand alone." He drops Light and continues on.

Light scrambles to him feet and dusts himself off. His test worked. He pries the smile from his face before his adversary takes notice. Good, as long as he has a method to control Ryuzaki, Light could use it when necessary—even if it means sacrificing a few broken bones along the way.

The pair returns to the two Shinigami, who see Ryuzaki first and panic. Light hurries forward to calm and reassure them they have both come to an agreement.

"I've done my part. Now it's time for you two to fulfill your end of the bargain," Light says, crossing his arms. "Show us the way to the City of Gods."

"H-how do we know you won't harm us after we've shown you?"

Ryuzaki takes a step, but Light wedges himself in between him and the two Shinigami. If he lets Ryuzaki attack or even threaten one of them, he'll be forced to seek help elsewhere. And with the world barren and the road long, he can't afford to waste time searching. "He won't. You have my word."

The Shinigami remain apprehensive. The fish-eyed one finally nods to its friend, and the slug-like Shinigami with golden jewelry waddles away toward some jagged rocks and then beckons with a fat, fingerless hand.

"This way. Follow me."

The group of four traverses a lean passage, surrounded by bones and rocks that seem to meld with each other, producing walls roughly a hundred feet high. A thin fog blocks out the sky, and Light has difficulty estimating where the rocks and bones end and the sky begins. His eyes narrow, and he notices a massive skeleton, perhaps that of a whale, through the thin fog. At first he thinks it's floating, but he deduces that the rock walls are holding it up. One bone looks capable of crushing the group should it fall.

Ryuzaki makes a noise of distress. He lifts a foot and pulls out a fish bone from the sole. Blood drips along the ground.

"Careful," the golden-jeweled Shinigami says a bit too late. "This is a boneyard. Your feet will be cut apart."

"If only you two had wings," its partner says with slight disappointment in its tone. "We could have flied there without hazard."

Ryuzaki shoots it a glare, as does Light. They seem to have some other connection aside from the brand. Perhaps it's not completely hopeless after all. Perhaps, deep down, the real L dwells within this pale creature. A part of Light, the part that enjoyed the chase, the thrill of having an equal, the allure of being feared and admired at the same time wants this to be that L. Another part urges him to abandon his hope. Hope is poisonous. Hope is a façade. Hope doesn't oust the wicked. Hope creates foolishness. It brought about Light's downfall. Its one strength is that it keeps the weak from succumbing to madness. But the weak have no place to stand in a perfect world. Since when has hope ever been his ally?

The wound on Ryuzaki's foot begins to heal. By the time they reach a giant lake, he doesn't appear to have sustained any injury.

The slug fixes its golden chain and says, "This is as far as we can take you without compensation."

Light surveys their surroundings. "There's no boat."

"You'll need coin to attain safe travel across the lake," the fish-eyed Shinigami explains and lifts a long finger to point. "The entrance is just beyond the fog."

"Has anyone attempted to swim across?" Ryuzaki asks, testing the water temperature with a toe. He places a foot in and then retracts it. The look of disgust on his face indicates it's colder than anticipated. "Sure doesn't feel like anyone could endure this."

"Nobody has tried."

Ryuzaki returns his attention to the water. His thumb presses to his lip, and he nibbles on the nail. "I see."

Light watches his adversary's mannerisms. A sickness rises in his stomach as if he's eaten a large dinner his body can't keep down. Even this thing moves and acts like L. The god king knew what he was planning when he created this creature from Light's memories.

 _Fucking bastard_ , Light thinks.

Ryuzaki dips another foot into the lake. His mouth twitches involuntarily. After a pause, he presses forward.

"I-I wouldn't do that if I were you," the golden-jeweled Shinigami warns underneath a nervous tone.

Light wants to say something, but his curiosity is stronger than his desire to protect the creature.

Despite his discomfort and the warning, Ryuzaki wades into the water until only his torso and head are showing. His cloak floats against the surface like a moving raft of shadows. The freezing lake numbs his body, and he loses any trace of himself below the water. While he knows his hands are in there somewhere, the black water mixed with the fog mars his vision. Something moves beneath him, but he has no inkling of what.

Ashore, Light loses track of the floating torso in the fog. "Ryuzaki!" he calls to no answer.

"Uh-oh." The fish-eyed Shinigami bites its long fingers.

"What's the matter?" Light asks.

The ground rumbles, and small waves form in the lake, hitting his feet. Light shrinks back. The water feels like a thousand tiny needles against his skin. The fog thickens until it's almost impossible to see his hands in front of him. The wind carries a feeling of dread. Light calls out to Ryuzaki one more time. His voice absorbs into the fog.

And then, a great wave comes crashing down upon them. A thousand stabbing knives evolve into a million across Light's body. His teeth chatter, and he coughs out the sticky, lake water. Something lies before him.

"Ryuzaki!" he says, bending down to his adversary's level. "Are you alright?"

"Told you it was a bad idea," the golden-jeweled Shinigami says, and Light leers at it.

The creature stirs and rises, peeling off seaweed and other pieces of God-knows-what that have latched themselves to his pale body. His cloak fans out, flicking off any dampness and wrapping back around him, now dry.

Ryuzaki combs his fingers through his hair. "Did I lose?"

Light blinks. "If that's what you intend to call it, then yes."

"You can't simply swim across," the fish-eyed Shinigami explains. "You need to either pay the lake for a boat or have wings."

"How much does a boat ride cost?" Light asks, standing.

"Ten coins. Each."

 _So twenty. Figures_. "Do you know how we may obtain that much money in a short time?"

The Shinigami exchange looks.

"You can always gamble," the fish-eyed one says. "Though there's only one Shinigami in the entire realm who'd be willing to play against a couple of fakes."

The word hits him hard. Light forces back a swift retort. If he'd learned anything from his past life, relying on his ego isn't the wisest move. "Fakes?"

The jeweled-clad slug plays with its golden necklace. "You're neither human nor Shinigami. You're in the middle, somewhere. You could be evolving into a Shinigami, but your outer appearance remains that of your human appearance." It taps its nearly nonexistent chin as if in thought. "Or maybe it's the other way around."

Light's interest increases. This could prove beneficial. "What happens if I become a Shinigami?"

"What happens to everybody…you're stuck here!" It releases a wheezing laugh like something has been caught in its throat. "It's quite a boring existence, really."

Light had experience with bored gods of death. He managed to keep one entertained for nearly seven years. Boredom was the seed that kept him from being killed. To fall back into it, and absent any Death Note, makes this journey seem worthless. No, there's always a way to think of something else. There's always a way to relieve the boredom. He's been given a second chance. He cannot falter his mission again. Immortality sits beyond this lake. Light can practically touch it with an outstretched hand. Any self-doubt is problematic. Any problem may produce weakness. He can't afford to be weak. He was once the most powerful being in the entire human world. Nobody will follow the weak—especially gods of death.

He needs to get across now. "That's a shame," Light says, dropping his head to appear upset. "I would think Shinigami have the good life. Never dying. Always in control of someone else's life. Instead, you waste your immortality with mindless games." He frowns and shakes his head. "When I was human, I befriended one of your kind. We spent a good deal of time together. You could say we were partners, though he preferred to watch from a distance."

Ryuzaki cocks a brow.

Light drops his head farther and softens his voice. "Deep down, I always thought we'd be friends. I had hoped he knew my admiration for his species. But I died before admitting it. My one regret is that he didn't know how lucky he was to have been a god of death. So I'll you two this now. You're lucky. You should be proud to be Shinigami. It's a privilege."

The pair pauses in puzzlement. This could be the first time they've ever heard such a complement.

Light conjures a smile. He's ensnared them.

"Liar." Ryuzaki stands.

The smile on Light's face shrivels away.

* * *

 **A/N** : Well, shit. This new Ryuzaki is certainly giving Light a hard time. Don't fret Light; things will start looking up for you…eventually. I'm trying to build Light's character development around Ryuzaki's criticism. Suffice to say, I'm using Ryuzaki to break Light down in order to build him back up.


	6. Chapter 6

5\. MEMORY

* * *

"Liar?" Light says, raising a brow. "What are you talking about?"

"It's precisely that," Ryuzaki says, his black eyes narrow, and his nose wrinkles to form a scowl. "You don't actually feel admiration for these things, do you? Or rather, are you so caught up in your lies that you've started to believe them, Yagami-kun?" There's a bite in his voice that shakes Light. Only someone with the ability to read minds could have deciphered Light's words with such ease. "Was the human you as blatantly obvious?"

Light grits his teeth. _You're fucking it all up_.

Ryuzaki continues, "If you're that envious of Shinigami, why not give up your quest? You can't die. You might as well be a god of death even without the notebook. Though I can see it in your eyes; that's not how you wish it so. 'How can I call myself a god if I don't have the equipment to be so?' is what you're thinking, isn't it, Yagami-kun?" He takes a slow step toward him until their faces are inches apart. His cold breath tickles Light's skin. What comes next causes electricity to shoot through Light's spine. "What are you without the Death Note?"

As if someone has hit him over the head with a hammer, Light feels a rush of emotional memories flow into him. He winces and massages his temples, attempting to quell the onslaught of images to no avail. He sees a young boy standing on a bridge that hovers over a rushing river. The boy's glazed eyes stare at the water, almost entranced by it. His reflection stares back, as if inviting him. The boy brushes his bangs out of his face and steps up onto the side of the bridge to attain a better angle for what he is preparing to do. His heart thunders in his chest, and his tiny hands shake as they press down on the concrete to hoist his body over the side. He grips the edge with both hands, turning his knuckles white, and plants his feet firmly below him. The boy's reflection mirrors his actions, but the look in its eyes doesn't waver. It's still beckoning him to join it. And soon he will. The boy hinges forward, ready to release his hold on this life.

"Light!"

The boy snatches the side of the bridge and vaults over to the other side just before his mother appears from around the corner. She presses her palm to her chest and exhales a deep sigh, as if expelling every horrific thought that could cross a mother's mind.

"Oh, thank God. I thought I'd lost you."

"Sorry," he says with a sheepish grin.

"What are you doing here?"

He nods to the river. "I was looking for fish and frogs."

Her eyes glance at the water, but she shuts them and tenses. "Don't ever go anywhere without my permission again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mom."

She bends down to his level. "You're a big brother, remember. Sayu needs a role model. Once your father and I are gone, she'll only have you. Try to set a good example for her, okay?"

"Okay."

She pulls him into her, and he breathes in the scent of her perfume. A mother's arms and smell are supposed to help a child. A mother's love is the cure for any wound. So why does the wound continue to fester inside his heart?

Light opens his eyes. The memory fades into the back of his mind. He licks his dry lips and sucks in a strained breath. He wishes he had witnessed a different memory. That one, taken when he was about seven or eight, has somehow crept back into him after resting dormant for years. Why must it appear now?

His gaze returns to Ryuzaki. Sweat dampens his forehead and the nape of his neck. Of course, it's this bastard's doing. Light grabs him by the collar and snaps, "What the fuck did you do to me?"

"Me?" Ryuzaki's eyes widen, but his voice remains steady. "What ever could you mean, Yagami-kun?"

He's mocking him.

"Don't fuck with me."

Ryuzaki raises his hand and curls his fingers around Light's wrist. With a sharp squeeze, Light winces. Something cracks. He jerks his hand away. The ache lingers, but the bone doesn't appear broken.

"Choose your words wisely, Yagami-kun. They may get you into trouble with much stronger opponents than me. And you know very well what I'm capable of." His eyes darken. "Remember _that_."

"Then why did I see a memory of myself when I was a child? A memory I had a long time ago when I was human. Why would it show up now after so long? You had something to do with it."

Ryuzaki shrugs. "I'm just as clueless as you are."

But Light isn't ready to let this go. Upon his resurrection, a plethora of memories flooded back into him. But most of them are memories he adores and he prides himself in having. Those memories remind him of the life he had built and the world he intended on creating, had it not fallen apart at the last moment. Those were optimistic memories. Pure. Radiant. Godly.

Light exhales, expelling all the tension in his body. If he's to work beside this creature, he needs to suppress his anguish for now. "I'd appreciate it if you don't say something like that again. I understand we're not friends, or even partners at this point, but we're following the same path. Let's not jeopardize each other's mindsets, shall we?"

The creature's mouth flinches involuntarily. Light expects a retort or a quip, but Ryuzaki says, "Very well." It's a soothing tone that almost sounds hopeful. So hopeful, Light mistakes it for belonging to the real L.

Light returns his attention to the Shinigami pair and the task ahead of him. "This may be belated, but we never got your names."

The fished-eyed one raises its hand. "I'm Nym, and that's Nexys." It points to the jewel-clad slug, who bows its fat head in response.

"My name is Light." He glances at the creature. "And this is…Ryuzaki." Even saying his name sends an uncomfortable tingle through him. "Anyway, you two said earlier that gambling is our best chance of obtaining the money to cross the lake. Where should we go?"

"There's a gambling site not far from here," Nexys says, fingering his chain of gold. "You could start from the bottom and work your way up to the best player."

Light grimaces and shakes his head. "I'm a bit pressed for time. I'd like to know where I can find your best player."

"I think the best player in the entire Shinigami realm is Deridovely." Nexys looks at Nym to confirm his speculation is indeed accurate. "He's usually found gambling in the foothills."

"How far away are the foothills?"

Nexys considers. "It's about a day's trek from here." He notices the look on Light's face. "In human days. Since you don't have wings to fly, the quickest passage is through the Desert of the Lost. That should save you about half a day."

The name itself sounds ominous. Light licks his lips. Should he chance it or play it safe? He feels Kami's eyes watching his every move and listening in on his every conversation. If Light plays it safe, he may disappoint the god king. And disappointing a god of death has not helped him in the past.

"Desert of the Lost? Sounds like my kind of place," Ryuzaki quips, chewing on his thumbnail. "We'd best head for it." Taking Light's wrist without permission, he starts half-dragging him away.

Light wiggles out of his grasp. "How are we supposed to find the desert if we don't even know where to go?"

Ryuzaki frowns. "I know where it is."

"Do you now?" Light says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Please explain how you acquired that information?"

"I saw it on the cliff."

Light purses his lips. Ryuzaki must be referring to the cliff he had scared Nym and Nexys off of. He remembered looking out and feeling like he was on top of the world. Like he had been reborn as God. Perhaps he was so distracted by himself he didn't bother to think about any desert.

"Fine," Light says. "Let's go." He turns back to thank the two Shinigami for their help.

"Hope you make it across safely," Nexys says, releasing a chortle that sounds like a hyena.

Light's eyes narrow in suspicion. The chortle lingers with him as he catches up to Ryuzaki, who is already several lengths ahead.

* * *

 **A/N** : Yay, another chapter where absolutely nothing exciting happens! Though there's a shitstorm heading for Light that I can't wait to show you guys in the next chapter (insert evil laugh). I'm slowly starting to get these characters' personalities where I want them to be—particularly "L"'s.


	7. Chapter 7

6\. HALLUCINATION

* * *

There's a shift in the air that only Light seems to acknowledge. It grows dense and hot, like he's walking into a furnace. He holds his breath, testing how long he can last without breathing. He's been breathing this entire time, and only now surmises that it isn't necessary for him. It's more like a force of habit. A way for him to cling to the last humanity he has left. Since his rebirth, he hasn't experienced any hunger pains or thirst. That should bring him relief, right? He's not dead, not really. But no heart beats in his chest. He almost misses having the comfort of knowing he's a living, breathing person.

"You look like shit."

Light glances up to see Ryuzaki watching him. He combs his hair through with his fingers and sighs. "What makes you say that?"

"Your eyes."

"My eyes?"

"There's pain behind them. Only someone who's suffered a lifetime's worth of hell should possess those eyes."

 _What the hell is he talking about_? Light thinks. _And why the hell is he speaking like he knows me_? Not a person in the world has ever commented on Light's eyes. Not even the real Ryuzaki made any mention. But that could also have been because he was too preoccupied with finding Kira to take notice.

"You make it sound almost romantic," Light remarks, stifling a laugh.

"You're in luck," Ryuzaki retorts. "It's not meant to be romantic, so don't expect a ring."

"Good. I'm safe."

"For now."

They backtrack to the cliff where the blue fire remains aflame, crackling. The gray sky has darkened since the last time they were here, and Light senses that it must mean night has fallen onto the Shinigami world.

Ryuzaki points to the west. "See?"

Narrowing his eyes, Light hones in on the general direction. A cloud of dust and sand kicks up with the wind, shielding any visible path in or around the desert. The dust reaches the cliff, and Light turns away and blocks his face with his arm to protect his eyes.

"Afraid of a little dirt?" Ryuzaki says.

Light recovers, brushing off the sand from his long coat. He has a quick retort in mind, but holds it back. This isn't the time or place to be distracted by a petty argument. "Let's move."

They climb down the cliff, being wary of falling rocks or sharp turns and angles. The duo reaches a cavern, and from this cavern, Light feels a hot, sandy breeze lift up his hair and long coat.

"This must be the entrance," he says and takes a step.

"Yagami-kun."

Light looks back at the pale man.

Ryuzaki watches him with what appears to be a hint of concern in his face. No, it can't be concern. The sand must have gotten to Light's eyes after all.

"What's wrong?" Light asks.

Ryuzaki looks away as if to consider his question. "How far are you willing to go for your redemption?"

Light thinks he has misheard him. What kind of question is that? Is he implying that Light was in the wrong? Redemption means saving yourself from your past sins or errors. Light may have committed what some consider murder, but he's always seen his work as just and necessary. Evil exists in everyone. But some evil is worth the use. Only evil can purge greater evil. That is what separates the law enforcement from the criminals; the sane from the insane; the moral from the amoral; the heroes from the villains. Nobody can truly be pure. The question leaves Light so lost in thought that he takes too long to answer.

"Never mind," Ryuzaki says and heads inside the cavern. His cloak drags behind his hunched figure like a carpet. His gaunt appearance dissolves into the darkness. He calls out to Light somewhere inside, "You coming or not?"

Light tracks the sound of the voice, pressing his hand to a wall and hugging it until he steps on something soft.

"Get off my cloak, you blind fool," Ryuzaki growls.

"Sorry," Light says sheepishly and retracts his foot. "Wait, are you able to see in this darkness?"

"Yes."

"Clearly?"

"Yes," he insists. "You may be as blind as a bat, but the world is as clear as day in here for me."

"Do you see an exit?"

A pause. "I see…something."

"That doesn't help."

"Shut up."

A sigh escapes Light. He feels another hot blow of sand on his face, which gives him an idea. "Hey, maybe we can follow where the wind is coming from. That should lead us out."

"He can learn. It's a miracle."

Light frowns but pardons the insult. All he wants to do is leave this dark place. Without his vision, he feels trapped. Though it takes him now to notice, he's always had a slim fear of confinement.

Following the outline of Ryuzaki's shape, Light hugs one hand to his chest and uses the other to navigate through the cavern. Water drips somewhere he can't see. He believes it's close. His first thought is he should be thirsty, but being not so dead keeps him from wandering off toward the drips.

"There," Ryuzaki says.

He sees the opening before Light does. It creeps up around a corner, and Light squints his eyes, giving them time to adjust. The hot sand stings his skin. For a moment, he worries he might be blown away.

When his eyes find strength, a large sea of nothing rests before him. Like an ocean underneath the scorching sun, the sand moves with the wind like undulating waves. No foothills in sight. A sense of dread comes over him.

"If I had known you'd be bringing me to a real desert, Yagami-kun, I would have brought shoes."

"Do you see anything?" Light asks.

Ryuzaki's hollow eyes survey the land. He shakes his head. "Why do I feel like we've been given false information?"

"We haven't," Light says, even though a hunch grows inside his stomach. "If we go back now, we'd be wasting time."

Time. Why does it feel like his enemy?

"If we get lost, I'm killing you," Ryuzaki says.

Light starts ahead. His feet sink into the sand, and pebbles flow over his toes. The sand feels like hot coals. If only he had been given sandals to wear. His feet are as bare as Ryuzaki's. The difference between them is that Ryuzaki seems to prefer going barefoot. Light doesn't believe he's enjoyed the freedom since his youth. Maybe never.

The wind picks up, and another gust of burning sand whips their faces. Ryuzaki pulls his cloak over his hair and face like hijab. Light tries to mimic with his long coat. The collar only comes to his chin, leaving his face at the sandstorm's mercy. His gaze sits a few feet in front of him, periodically looking up to search for anything other than desert.

"Do you see anything?" Light calls to his adversary. The wind drowns his voice out.

No response.

Light's slanted eyes peek over his shoulder. Ryuzaki is gone. Taken by the wind like the sand stabbing at his skin. Light wonders if he had abandoned him when he wasn't looking.

For a time, all he sees through his eyelashes is wiping sand, piercing his face to the point he believes his flesh has started peeling, then his muscle, and down to the bone, until he's a skeleton. His fingers brush against the ripping sandstorm, creating a sound that reminds him of Kami's chains. The loss of skin and muscle has weakened his resolve, forcing him to the ground.

A voice like ice enters his head, _Go back. You don't belong here._ It's as clear and soft as a whispering lover. _You are no God._

Light fights the wind and the voice. What's left of his body starts to unravel, split into dust and ash and become consumed.

 _Murderer._

 _Killer._

 _Failure._

The attacks seek to split his head apart at the crown and reduce his brain to a messy pile of nothing.

A cackle escapes the wind. Something stands before Light. He looks up with eyes he no longer possesses and sees a familiar face.

"Ryuk," he mumbles, sand pouring into his mouth.

"Light Yagami," Ryuk says in a mocking tone. "What a sad sight you are. If only you hadn't picked up the Death Note. You'd still be you." Clenching his long, fingers together, Ryuk conjures an apple into his palm. "Our time together was well spent. But the person you became can no longer help you. Kira is in your past. How will killing save your name, Light?"

He wants to respond, but the fierce wind and heavy sand cuts off any further space for him to speak.

Ryuk kneels down to his level. "Look."

Light follows the Shinigami's finger into the sandstorm. It doesn't seem to be pointed at anything in particular until a black mass forms. A man steps out, dressed in a business suit, and staggers toward him, clenching his chest. Drool slides down his chin, and he falls to the ground inches away and evaporates into a million particles of sand.

"Kurou Otoharada, heart attack," Ryuk says and points into another direction where someone else comes out of the storm.

Light can't fathom this one being a human. Half of the man's body has been crushed. Blood and brain matter pour down from his open cranium. His left arm and leg appear to have every bone broken, protruding out of his clothes like spines on a porcupine. The storm melts him away.

"Takuo Shibuimaru, car accident." Ryuk lifts Light's chin and turns his head into yet another direction. Light has no choice but to look.

A beautiful woman with damp, black hair and fine cheekbones stands shaking. Her nightgown drips, and she turns her inner arms outward. Razor slashes crawl up either forearm. Blood spills across the desert, drenching it in red. Her vacant eyes stare down at him in a mixture of betrayal and vengeance. Then a gust of sandy wind destroys any remnant of her.

"Naomi Misora, suicide."

Light has no way to speak.

"And those were only three of your victims," Ryuk says, releasing Light's chin. "Do you know how many lives you have taken in all?"

The wind whistles, as if alive.

"124925. That's how many people have died by your hand, Light Yagami." Another flick of the wrist summons the ghost of a boy, roughly the age of eight or nine, with blond hair and steel eyes to his side. "Do you know who this is?"

Light shakes his head.

"This is Thierry Morrello's son."

Morrello, Light remembers. The sleazy, foreign scoundrel L had hired to infiltrate Yotsuba under the alias Aiber. Light swiftly rid the world of the con man soon after L's death.

Tears well in the boy's eyes. "Why?" he asks, sniffing. "Why did you kill my daddy?" Then the boy's brow furrows, and his nose wrinkles in disgust. "You are not God. You're a fake. _Fake_!"

Light's bones crack, about to snap and join the rest of his torn being within the storm.

"You see, Light?" Ryuk says. "You see what the consequence of your actions have brought to the world? Nothing but pain and ire. Even a god can't extinguish all evil because you become the evildoer. The one bastard left in the world is the bastard who thinks he can rid the world of bastards. There will always be corruption. No world is safe. No person is immune to its infection."

With the boy sobbing and throwing insults at him, and Ryuk's silence chastising him, Light should have been consumed by the raging storm. But something keeps him adrift. It's something beyond a deep, impenetrable wall of pride and belief that he had constructed after swearing allegiance to the Death Note's power.

Light finds strength, lifts himself up with his crackling bones, and somehow revives his voice amidst all the chaos. "You think you can use cheap apparitions to frighten me?" A chuckle finds its way into him. "Don't give me that fake bullshit when you're no different."

The boy dispels.

"Oh?" Ryuk says in an amused tone. "What do you mean?"

"The real Ryuk would never say this. The real Ryuk doesn't care about the world. The world could rot into nothing, and he wouldn't bat an eye. Ryuk is a hedonist. All he desires is entertainment and apples."

The fake Ryuk falls silent, giving Light the chance to sink the knife where the wound has been pierced. Though a sliver of concern for his life stirs inside him, Light ignores it. "If you wish to scare me, Kami, you've failed."

The fake Ryuk stares at him with a challenged, almost wry, expression. His Cheshire smile dissolves, something Ryuk's would never do. His fish eyes pop out of their sockets, and his skin peels off and flutters in the wind like paper. Soon, nothing exists of the façade.

The wind whispers like it has a voice. The sand weakens its bitter grip, and the desert becomes clear, revealing the gray sky.

Light shifts and feels the sand between his fingers. His skin has somehow reattached itself, and he sees the veins and tendons beneath their fleshy covering. He stands. Before him rests not desert but the base of the mountain where several smaller rock formations and elevations exist.

He's reached the foothills.

* * *

 **A/N** : So I'm actually proud of this chapter—yay for it being the longest in the story thus far! Light still holds true to himself, but willpower alone may not always be his go-to in future…*cough*

Next time on ROFG: Gambling for his name. Light finds himself on the cusp of freedom and eternal slavery! Will he win?


	8. Chapter 8

7\. GAMBLE

* * *

Light can't recall the last time he'd walked this far. In his past life, he'd been a top athlete, capable of absorbing any game's mechanics and using them to his advantage to defeat opponents. But somehow the stress of not having found his name, seeing apparitions from his past, and now losing Ryuzaki has made him lethargic. He finds rest on a rock.

Light's eyelids droop, and he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the rock for leverage. He wants to keep moving, find the one called Deridovely, obtain the necessary compensation to reach the City of Gods and retrieve the Death Note with his name inside. However, every time his body goes to stand, it sinks back down onto the rock.

Fighting sleep, Light surveys the foothills. The terrain is no different from the rest of this gray world. The desert sand still lingers beneath his feet, and the black mountain looms over like a giant watching him. Several levels of rock sit in between him and his path. The air has thinned, cooled, but that brings no satisfaction or relief.

Light slumps and closes his eyes.

When he awakens, voices surround him. He looks up and nearly falls back in shock from the small amount of space between himself and the one that stands before him. The creature has no eyes. Instead, a plate mask covers half of its face. Bandages form its attire, and it's full lips spread apart to laugh. The creature stands like a human, but Light knows better than to assume a Shinigami has any human qualities other than an insatiable desire for thrill. Something leans against its shoulder. A scythe.

"Look what we have here, boys," it says. "The old man's new mutt."

Two other voices laugh in response, and Light cranes his neck around to see one Shinigami with an animal-like skull for a head, and another Shinigami with pulled-back lips, revealing a line of shark teeth, and a Native American headdress.

"Go on, mutt," the masked Shinigami says, nudging Light in the arm. "Bark like a dog for us."

Light frowns but says nothing.

The animal-like Shinigami barks to the amusement of the others. "He must be a shy one!"

"Maybe we should give him a little more confidence. What do you think, Deridovely?" The sharp-toothed Shinigami says, finally putting a name to the masked one. "Gukku?" It looks at the animal-like Shinigami.

"Hmm, I don't know, Zellogi," says Gukku, still teasing Light by barking. "Any ideas Deridovely?"

The masked one ponders. "I have a few."

"So you're Deridovely?" Light says.

"That's right," Deridovely replies with a slight bite in his tone. "You know me, mutt?"

Light stands. "Yes, I've been looking for you."

"Is that right?" His full lips form a crooked grin. "For what reason?"

"I'm here to challenge you to a gambling match," Light says with resolve. "If I win, you give me all the money you have."

Deridovely's smile holds firm, and he scoffs. "And if _I_ win?"

Light looks away to consider. There's only one asset he has that's valuable enough to risk. "You get me."

The gaggle of Shinigami burst into laughter.

"What the hell? How would a mutt like you be of any use to me?" he asks under his laugh. He sounds like he's being choked. "Your ass is better off wandering back through the desert and getting lost."

Light's hands curl into fists. The insults keep flying at him, but they're much weaker and more tolerable than Ryuzaki's. He needs to use any trick in the book to convince these guys how worthy he is lest the god king smite him where he stands if he fails. "Have you guys ever heard of Kira?"

The threesome fall silent and exchange looks.

"Kira?" says Gukku, tapping his chin. "Wasn't that the name of some celebrity from the human world?"

"No, you idiot, it was definitely some serial killer," Zellogi says, slapping Gukku over the skull. "That's why he was named _Kira_."

Light gives a pleasant smile. "Kira happened to be a mixture of the two. He killed those he thought were harmful to the world and thus became a worldwide celebrity to the masses. He grew so revered that some even considered him their savior—just like they would a god. Even though he was technically human, he still has followers long after his death."

Gukku seems the most intrigued. "Why bring him up?"

Light shrugs. "Why not? A human considered a god? How can you say that doesn't pique your interest?"

"Who gives a shit?" Deridovely says, leaning on his scythe like an old man leans on his cane for support. "He's dead."

But Light remains calm. "Because even though you three are gods of death you waste your time and power on frivolous, mundane things. Humans don't know who you are. They assume that death comes naturally—that there's no supernatural influence behind their demise when there is. Unlike Kira, you're immortal beings. Aren't gods supposed to be worshipped, feared, and, above all, respected?"

"What are you getting at, mutt?"

Light forces back a mirthless grin. "If you win, you get my knowledge. You get my abilities. I can show you how I became a god even though I was mortal. I can show you the power of Kira."

For a moment, none of the Shinigami speak. The gray world moves by while they stand still.

Deridovely's smile rots, and he licks his thick lips. "All right, mutt. I like your spirit. Will like it even more when I break it."

Light smirks.

With a beckon if his boney hand, Deridovely takes Light out of the foothills and to higher ground where the remains of a waterfall and a stagnant pool rest. The sewage smell irritates his senses. Light hesitates as Deridovely enters the pool. The water comes to his ankles.

"What's wrong, mutt?" Deridovely asks. "Afraid of a little bath? You could benefit from one."

Gukku and Zellogi chortle from the edge of the pool.

Light ignores them and steps into the water. It's room temperature, although he feels like he's walking through septic sludge. He gags but composes himself by the time he meets Deridovely in the middle of the pool.

The masked Shinigami spins his scythe around and sinks the base of it into the water, spreading the liquid apart and revealing the damp bottom where a deck of cards has been laid out. Pellucid water drops rise up as if being evaporated and hover in midair. The stage has been set.

Deridovely sits down cross-legged. "Ever gambled before, mutt?" His voice has a hint of suspicion that Light makes note of.

Light sits, mirroring him. The sand is moist and seeps into his clothes. "Not particularly."

Deridovely picks up the cards and shuffles them between his gaunt hands. "What about Uno?"

"Yes. Plenty." Light remembers the family nights his mother would insist on having when his father had time after work. The four of them, including Sayu, would sit around and engage in card games, preferably Uno, Crazy Eights, and Go Fish. And they'd bet that whoever won would get the last slice of pizza or a movie of their choice or something else just as small yet seemingly valuable. Light would win almost every time, and Sayu would cry and complain that he had cheated. The act of winning grew so tedious that eventually he let his sister win.

But losing to his sister is nothing compared to this game. This time, Light has only one chance. And his freedom happens to be on the line. Should he fail, he'll either spend eternity as this thing's slave or return to nothingness. Either demise feels just as disheartening as its alternative.

"We'll play three rounds. First to win two rounds wins the game," Deridovely explains and deals seven cards for each of them. He slides Light his deck.

"Before we start," Light says, hovering his hand above his deck. "I want to know you have the money."

Deridovely's lips curl into a crooked smile as if he's offended Light would distrust him. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a coin bag. It plops to the ground, jingling with the promise of payment. "Well? Are you satisfied?"

Light nods, plucks his deck from the damp ground and spreads the cards apart. Instantly, he knows he's at a disadvantage. He's absent any wild cards or draw twos. Each card's number moves as if mocking him. The cards themselves feel heavy in his hands. He lowers them and his sight but remains cautious of Deridovely, even though it's impossible to know if the Shinigami can see through his mask or not. Does he even have eyes? Does he need to feel the cards to know what number they are? How does he recognize the colors?

Light pushes the thoughts aside as Deridovely flips the first card over from the deck. The red number reads five.

"You first, mutt."

Light matches it with a red three.

Deridovely switches the color with a blue three.

 _Already switching_? Light glances at his deck that contains mostly reds and greens. From Light's experience, red and green are the most popular colors to draw, even though every deck has an equal number of color-coordinated cards. He only has two blues, and neither number match any other card of his. If he's to rid himself of these blues as soon as possible, Deridovely needs to have either number. If he's switching so early it's because he genuinely doesn't have any more reds or he's trying to throw Light off. The unreadable look on the masked Shinigami's face doesn't help. _His eyes_ , Light thinks, narrowing his own. _Why does he have to hide his damn eyes_? Based on their short interaction so far, Deridovely seems like the type who would be cackling or smirking right now, not so relaxed. _This guy must have gotten a bad hand, too._

Unless…

Light puts down a blue seven, and Deridovely responds with another blue three. Light licks his lips and lets go of his last blue, a nine. If Deridovely puts down a card that doesn't match any other card of Light's, he'll have to draw. A red and three greens remain in his hand.

Deridovely's face remains unchanged as he slides his fifth card from between his fingers and drops it into the pile.

Light's throat tightens.

"Draw four, mutt," Deridovely says beneath a hacking chuckle, and his friends echo him from the pool's edge. "Yellow." He puts down a yellow five.

Light gathers four cards from the deck. He tries not to acknowledge that Deridovely only has three cards remaining in his hand. Only one of the cards Light picks up is yellow, but thankfully it's a skip that matches with a red skip he has and another red one he's picked up.

He places the three cards down on the pile at the same time, "Skip, skip, and one." A smirk crosses his lips. It may not be a wild card or a draw two, but at least he's able to throw the masked Shinigami off.

But his smirk disintegrates when the laughter that built inside Deridovely's throat returns. "You're making this too easy, mutt." He places all three cards down simultaneously. The first is a wild card, the second is a green reverse, and the last is a green four. Deridovely leans in close. "I win."

* * *

 **A/N** : Uh-oh, looks like Light's in the doghouse (no pun intended). I always found Deridovely to be a cool and creepy Shinigami, and yet he had about less than a minute of overall screen time in the anime, which is disappointing considering that fucking awesome scythe!

I will provide an explanation and cheat sheet in next week's chapter for any non-mathematicians (*cough* like me *cough*) or Uno players out there. Will Light be able to decipher Deridovely's trick? Place your bets!


	9. Chapter 9

8\. DRAW

* * *

 **A/N:** So fanfic hates me and won't let me add the official link to the site on how to play Uno. My advice is to type in "How to Play Uno" into your search engine, and then go to the link called "Uno Rules - The Original Uno Card Game Rules" to understand the game's mechanics.

Additional author notes and a cheat sheet can be found at the end of this chapter.

* * *

He lost.

It doesn't fully register until Deridovely is reshuffling the deck. The masked Shinigami notices his expression and grins. "What's the matter, mutt? Too shocked to continue? Want to stop?"

No answer.

Deridovely offers him the deck. "If you're that bummed about it, I'll let you shuffle this time."

Still no answer. Deridovely waves a hand in front of Light's face and even snaps his fingers. "I think he's broken, boys," he says to Gukku and Zellogi.

"What a shame," Zellogi says, crossing his arms. "Bastard seemed so confident before. I even considered betting on him."

"How sad," Gukku agrees.

The sound of thunder rolls into the gray world. Light hears a voice that's as soft as a whisper but as loud as a yell. _Light Yagami, if you don't win this then return here to me. I shall tear your body and soul apart and release them into nothingness where they belong_ , Kami warns. _Do not disappoint me. This is your first and final warning._

Deridovely returns his attention to the silent form in front of him. "So what'll it be, mutt? Do you give u—?"

"No." Light raises his head as Kami's voice fades into the back of his mind. His eyes peek through his bangs and burn with enough resolve to make the masked Shinigami lean back.

Deridovely is impressed. "Oh? He's not dead, after all."

"Get on with it then!" Gukku says.

Deridovely slides seven cards to Light and takes seven of his own before placing the deck down and flipping the top card over. A yellow five.

Light examines his deck, a better hand than the previous. He has one wild card. He places a yellow three down, and Deridovely covers it with a yellow six. Light then puts down a yellow five, and the slightest hint of a smile appears on what part of Deridovely's face shows.

The masked Shinigami drops a wild card. "Red."

The other two Shinigami whisper, and Light catches what sounds like one of them mention the previous number. Light narrows his eyes at the yellow five he had put down earlier. _Wait. Is it not the color that matters?_ he thinks. _Could a number have been tampered with?_ Light considers the previous cards and begins adding and subtracting them in his head. He first adds them all up to nineteen but deduces that nineteen doesn't match with anything from the first round. Then he subtracts random numbers from nineteen, and a hunch grows in his chest. Take away six from nineteen and the number is thirteen. In the last round, thirteen had shown up after adding a few blues together.

 _Thirteen, of course._

The number of bad luck. How poetic and cliché. Light has fallen for the oldest trick in the book. He scoffs at how feebleminded he's become. Is this how things were between L and himself? Ego had gotten ahold of him before and had taken everything from him. He can't let pride blur his mindset.

But can thirteen be the only number to avoid? No, there must be more, considering Deridovely won the last round without the final few numbers anywhere near thirteen. Light adds and subtracts them in his head. The final two numbers in the previous game subtract down to…

 _Four_.

Thirteen and four are the numbers to watch—the numbers that ensure Light's disadvantage. Four, the number of death. This game is becoming more cliché with each small breakdown. But something tells him those can't be the only two. Death comes in threes, as they say. Light knows from experience—Mello, Takada, and then himself had died in a couple of days from each other.

"You frozen there, mutt?" Deridovely asks, tapping his boney finger. "My body's starting to decompose just watching you."

Light doesn't realize how long he's been sitting in thought until Deridovely snaps him back to reality.

"Sorry. What color was it?"

"I said red," the masked Shinigami hisses.

Light puts down the only red he has, an eight. _Do the colors play a role_? Thinking back to the first round, if he had added or subtracted numbers with different colors, his theory about the numbers thirteen and four wouldn't make sense. The colors seem meaningless, but Light's gut feeling says otherwise. Ninety percent of the time, a person's gut feeling is proven accurate. He's willing to risk his freedom to trust his. _The color change must reset the numbers._

Deridovely covers Light's card with a red one.

Light has no colors to match it. In order to further prove his theory, he must sacrifice his most important card. "Green," he says, after placing the wild card down.

Deridovely rubs his chin, a gesture Light hasn't seen yet. The masked Shinigami puts down a green two.

Light responds with a green four. Two cards left. _Six_.

Deridovely pauses and reaches for the deck to draw a card.

Light's heart lurches, and he hides his growing smile. _So that rules out six as the third number_. He furrows his brow and straightens his back. _No, don't get cocky._ Light places another green four down. _Ten_. "Uno."

Deridovely pauses with the three cards he has in hand. His full lips press together, and he reaches for the deck again to draw another card.

Light turns his last card around. "Yellow, four. I win."

"Oh shit." Gukku hops up and down on his boney legs and cackles. "Deridovely actually lost!"

"It's been a while since I've seen that happen," Zellogi adds. "This mutt ain't half bad."

Deridovely shifts in his seat, leaning against his scythe and raising his head as if to scan Light. Light leers right back, challenging him with his eyes. He had read that one must never look a dangerous beast directly in the eye. But Light doesn't just see a dangerous beast. He sees opportunity.

The masked Shinigami takes the cards and begins shuffling them again. "New bet. If you win this, I'll give you my scythe as a bonus."

"That's very generous of you."

"I know," Deridovely says with a bite in his tone. "That's why you're not gonna win this time, mutt."

He deals the cards, sliding seven new ones Light's way. Light gathers them in between his fingers and examines each. The numbers dance on every card, and, for a moment, he thinks they grow faces. The faces stick out their tongues and wag them around like dog tails. Unlike a dog, these faces have nothing but malice for him. Despite one wild card, he knows he's picked up another bad hand.

Light's stomach churns, but he remains composed in front of Deridovely. Any hint of wavering spirit may be his downfall. Too arrogant, he'll lose. Too doubtful, he'll definitely lose.

The worst part: he still needs to decode the third number. He shuffles through the previous two rounds in his head one last time before Deridovely places the deck down and turns over the first card.

A blue four.

Light stares at it for longer than seems advisable. Four, of course he has to have a disadvantage from the get-go on the final round. He glances at his cards. The only blues he has are a three and a nine. Deridovely may have a higher chance of winning this if he bets on the three. Should he instead use the yellow four he has? No, Deridovely still has an advantage. Light does have one wild card available. Should he cheat and sacrifice it so early? Usually in the game of Uno, players must make sure they have no other card available in the same color before using a wild card. But this isn't a typical game of Uno. Light's not sitting around with friends or family, he's betting eternal servitude to some lowlife Shinigami. Deridovely reminds him of a gangster—someone without admirable hopes or dreams. Someone who walks the world with a gun in one hand and a bad attitude in the other.

"I don't have all day, mutt."

Light has no choice but to assume putting down the three will somehow keep him safe. Seven may be the final number. But thirteen and four are absolutely numbers Light must avoid.

The slightest smirk crawls up Deridovely's face. It feels as if a great weight hits Light's chest. His stomach churns.

 _The third number is…_

Deridovely places his next card down. "Draw four. Red." Then places down a second card, a red seven.

Light gathers four cards from the deck. None of them are useful except a red draw two. He places it down and takes a card from the deck. But Deridovely doesn't immediately draw two.

"Aren't you going to—?"

"I've already won, mutt." Deridovely leans forward and then flips over all five cards in his hand. They're all wild draw fours. Then he picks up the next two cards from the deck. Two additional wild draw fours. All the cards dance as if mocking Light. "It doesn't matter what I do next. You've lost."

He should feel defeat coil around him. However, Light can't help but think there's something off. He cocks a brow. "How is that possible when there are only four draw four wild cards in an Uno deck?"

Deridovely's smirk dissolves.

Light glances at his own deck. The numbers dance. Out of curiosity, he smudges one with his thumb. The number and color change.

"So you've been cheating." Light scoffs and leers at the masked Shinigami. A fire ignites inside him, and he rises to his feet. "Do you know what happens to those who cheat?"

Deridovely shrinks back. "Bastard. So what?" He hops to standing and wields his scythe. The end of the blade pinches Light's throat. "Doesn't matter whether I cheated or not, mutt. You've lost. And now you're mine."

Light's back, where the L-shaped mark rests, tickles. He glances over the Shinigami's shoulder and then shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."

Deridovely sinks the blade into Light's throat, drawing a stream of blood down to his collarbone. "Who the fuck do you think you're talk to, mu—?" A sound like two knives colliding splits through the air. Deridovely pauses. He reaches up where his mask should be but finds nothing. The half-headed Shinigami lets the scythe slip from his fingers, drops to his knees, and slumps over. His form disintegrates into a pile of ash and charred bones that wash away in the pool. Meanwhile, the scythe falls into the hands of a familiar being.

"Ryuzaki," Light says, almost relieved to see the pale man's dull orbs under a river of black tendrils looking back at him. The water hits Light's ankles again, and the card deck in his hand disappears. He fishes the sack of coins out from within the pond.

"Holy shit," Gukku says, falling back. His animal-like jaw hangs open. "He really killed him."

"Let's get out of here," Zellogi says, turning around.

Before they have a chance to flee, Ryuzaki jumps in their way, prepared to slice them apart with his new weapon.

"Wait," Light says sharply. "Don't kill them."

His companion lowers his weapon. His eyes darken. "Why not? They were in on the cheat. Besides, they're witnesses."

"And they also potentially have information."

The pale man groans.

"We don't know this land, Ryuzaki," Light reasons. "What if we get to the City of Gods and end up wandering around aimlessly for days wasting time? They may know where my Death Note is."

"You've got a Death Note?" Gukku asks.

"It's not mine, per say, but I need to find it in order to move forward. Do you two know who might be in possession of someone else's Death Note?" Light uses his polite voice, though deep down he wants to grab them both and shake the information from them. But politeness, as he's learned, can very well get him further than threats.

The Shinigami ponder with haste.

"There's Kinddara," Gukku says, tapping his finger against his animal-like skull. "She might know."

Light raises a brow. "Kinddara?"

Kellogi nods. "She knows a lot of Shinigami in the realm."

"How may I find her?"

"She should be in the city, overseeing the Pits."

"Okay, thank you."

Gukku glances at Ryuzaki. His bones rattle together, trembling. "Does this mean we're free to go?"

"Yes," Light replies. "You have my word."

The two Shinigami turn and scuttle away. They don't make any strides before Ryuzaki lunges and slices them into several hundred pieces. The pieces turn to ash and blow away with the wind.

Light's mouth drops. "What the hell are you _doing_?"

Ryuzaki spins the scythe around in his hand and rests it against his shoulder. "You still don't get it, do you?" He steps toward him. A hint of light hits his eyes, but it's not pleasant. "You don't make the rules anymore, Yagami-kun. Welcome to the new world where nobody cares who you are."

* * *

 **A/A/N** : So I have a confession: I screwed up the math in the previous chapter. By the end of the first round, Deridovely had three cards left, not two. I have since corrected the issue and am currently slamming my head against a wall for my incompetence. This is why I'm a writer not a mathematician. Please forgive me :-(

In lighter news, Happy Halloween and Happy Early Birthday to L! He'd be 38, damn.

* * *

Going off Uno's usual rules, Deridovely spiced things up by utilizing the numbers 4, 7, and 13 to help him cheat. Each time Light put down a card that either added/subtracted to one of the three numbers, Deridovely would magically have a wild card. If Deridovely put down a card equaling any of the three numbers, his cheat wouldn't work. It only applies to the opponent's hand. In hindsight, even if Deridovely picked up a poor hand at the beginning of a round, the cards were bewitched to change a random card into a wild if he had been given an advantage thanks to Light's misfortune.

Below is the cheat sheet for each round. S represents the starting card, L represents Light, and D represents Deridovely. Each divider represents the card they put down, the number of cards they have remaining, and the math behind each card(s) used. Every time there is color change, the math resets. However, this rule doesn't apply if action cards are used to change colors (as shown in round one).

 **ROUND 1:**

S: R5

L: R3/ 6 cards/ 5+3=8

D: B3/ 6 cards/ NEW COLOR RESETS GAME TO 3

L: B7/ 5 cards/ 7+3=10

D: B3/ 5 cards/ 10-3=7 or 10+3=13

L: B9/ 4 cards/ 13-9= **4***

D: W4 and Y5/ 3 cards/ RESET

L: 8 cards

L: YS and RS and R1/ 5 cards/ 5-1= **4** *

D WINS

 **ROUND 2:**

S: Y5

L: Y3/ 6 cards/ 5+3=8.

D: Y6/ 6 cards/ 8-6=2

L: Y5/ 5 cards/ 2+5= **7***

D: W/ 5 cards/ RESET

L: R8/ 4 cards

L: W/ 3 cards/ RESET

D: G2/ 3 cards

L: G4/ 2 cards/ 2+4=6

L: G4/ 1 card/ 6+4=10

L WINS

 **ROUND 3:**

S: B4

L: B3/ 6 cards/ 4+3= **7***

D: W4 and R7/ 5 cards

L: 10 cards

D: CHEAT REVEALED


	10. Chapter 10

9\. FAIRYTALE

* * *

 **A/N** : Hey, guys. I'm posting this early because I have limited internet access at the moment. Enjoy!

* * *

The passage water looks stagnate. Almost lying in wait like a predator crouched in the grass, prepared to lunge for its prey. It's haunting even for Light to look at as he wades deeper, letting it rise to his knees.

"How much farther?" he calls to shore.

Ryuzaki nods with his head, directing him. "A little farther, then drop the coins into the water."

Light takes a few more steps, feeling the sludge between his toes. A chill runs down his spine, and he removes the sack of coins from within his long coat and tosses it into the lake, letting the sack sink into the dark depths.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Soon, he wonders if he's been fooled. "You said to toss it into the water. Why isn't anything happening?"

Ryuzaki leans against his scythe and gives a shrug. "Maybe you're supposed to chant something?"

Light rolls his eyes. Before he dives to search for the sack, the water starts rippling. The sand between his submerged feet starts to move. He swiftly scrambles out and returns to shore. The fog lifts, and a black shape forms, growing in size each passing second until it's a looming shadow over their heads. The hull has been split in half and pieces of wood stick out like shark teeth. Black sails ungulate like waves in the wind. Cobwebs cloak the ship's bow like a blanket.

The ominous vessel anchors. A ladder drops in front of the pair, as if asking them to board. Unsure, Light hesitates, but Ryuzaki balances the scythe on his shoulders and boards first. Light places a sliver of trust in the idea that Ryuzaki will be capable of handling the crew should things not go as planned.

When Light's feet land on the deck, a foul odor stings his nose. It's like a combination between pond water, shit, and rotting flesh. The boat has been left in poor condition. Holes scatter across the deck, part of the main mast has been broken off, detaching the crow's nest, and small insects crawl between the wooden panels. Most suspicious of all: There's no crew in sight. Light does well to avoid the holes and insects, but he wonders how such a massive ship could be capable of sailing or even staying afloat without its main mast fixed. He has never seen anything quite so depressing and fascinating at the same time. Some supernatural element must be in play here.

Meanwhile, Ryuzaki ignores the warnings and heads toward the captain's quarters. He knocks twice. No answer. His fingers wrap around the doorknob. It's locked. With a scowl, he kicks open the door, knocking it off its hinges, and enters. The place is barren minus a dusty table and chair. On the table sits an untitled book. Ryuzaki leans his scythe against the wall, dusts the chair off and plops down. He shifts, searching for a comfortable position but finds none. Pulling his legs into his chest, he sits up and leans forward, letting his body hover just a few inches off the chair. For some odd, inexplicable reason, he finds this position the most comfortable out of everything he's tested. With his pointer finger and thumb he pinches the corner of the book and opens it. The first picture is of a little boy, no older than five, alone and weeping. He wipes his eyes, hidden beneath a mound of dark, messy hair. Ryuzaki furrows his brow and a pain stings his chest that he can't seem to understand. Regardless, his curiosity urges him to read:

 _There was once a boy without a name,_

 _Who knew no family, only pain._

 _And the boy wandered far and wide,_

 _For he never stayed long, like the tide._

 _Over mountains and hills he went._

 _For wherever he walked, there was nothing but regret._

 _Then one day he was traveling abroad,_

 _When he came across something rather odd._

 _A single apple tree sat amid dust._

 _That called to him asking to discuss,_

 _What might perhaps have been the first time,_

 _The boy spoke to a being not of his own kind._

 _"Hello," said the apple tree. "You must have traveled far."_

 _"Hello, back," the boy said. "I travel by star."_

 _"Do you?" The tree asked, its branches scratching together._

 _"Yes, I do. No matter how difficult, even the weather."_

 _"May I ask you a favor? I promise it will be worthy."_

 _The boy nodded, his mouth dry, thirsty._

 _"I will reward you with apples, if you regale me with tales."_

 _The boy paused, still unsure of the details._

 _"My apples are sweet and pure. Not worthy of scum,"_

 _"Many come to pick them and then run."_

 _"I want to know of the world beyond,"_

 _"This treacherous island I've been marooned on."_

 _"And let my fruit make you big and strong,"_

 _"So that you may always return no matter how long."_

 _The boy pondered, without a clue,_

 _Of how such an offer may be true._

 _He'd known nothing but pain and cruelty._

 _To see something of such beauty,_

 _Brought tears to his dark eyes,_

 _That he could not hide behind._

 _So the boy made a vow to return annually,_

 _As his story and body grew gradually._

 _For the tree listened and let him eat,_

 _Under its truck he would always seat._

 _Until one day, when the boy became a man,_

 _And he no longer had stories to command,_

 _He said to the tree, "I must be off,"_

 _"For there's nothing left to tell on this rock."_

 _But the tree said, "Not so fast,"_

 _"For I have one final request I must ask."_

 _"Drink from my sap, oh lonely one,"_

 _"And our pact together will be over and done."_

 _So the man obeyed and licked the sap._

 _Not realizing he had fallen for a trap._

 _The tree withered and died._

 _While the man stood surprised,_

 _His stomach began to expand,_

 _And his feet sank into the sand._

 _Then out from his gaping mouth,_

 _Came a tree that reached the clouds._

 _And from this tree sprouted fruit,_

 _That many across the world came to loot._

 _For years the tree remained still,_

 _Until there came a frightful winter chill,_

 _That left the tree ugly and bare,_

 _Absent any fruit, anywhere._

 _And the story of the boy without a name,_

 _Became a legend both dreary and untamed._

Ryuzaki closes the book and rests his chin on his knees, drinking in the story's context. Dust particles flutter around him, and he blows them away. The ache in his chest seems to evolve into a fire that he can't douse. Its smoke reaches his throat, turning it to ash. The more he records the story in his head, the more powerful the fire becomes. His clenches his chest, and his mind swims until someone comes through the broken door, snapping him back to reality.

"What are you doing?" Light asks.

"Sitting, of course."

Light frowns at the retort and nods to the book on the table. "Is that a useful read?"

Ryuzaki shakes his head. "No, it's a bad book."

"About what?"

Ryuzaki pushes it toward him. "Read it yourself if you're so inclined." More dust particles fly into the air, and he waves his hand vehemently to disperse them before they find shelter in his eyes or throat. Even the thought of one of those floating pieces touching his body makes his stomach churn.

Light opens the book and sifts through the first few pages. His brow furrows, and he takes a sheaf of papers and lets them fall between his fingers like water. "These pages are blank."

"Or maybe you are _that_ blind."

"Can't you say anything that's not belittling?"

"Nope." Ryuzaki stands up. "You see, I don't have any obligation to be nice to you. After all, you're Kira. The same Kira who killed L. The same Kira who murdered thousands in cold blood. The same—"

" _Okay_ ," Light interjects. He calms himself before his emotions ruin him. "Okay, I understand. You're right. You're absolutely right. I did those things, and I can't take them back. Kira was evil and petty. That's why I'm here to prove that I'm not the same as I once was. So I ask you not to judge a man based on the sins of his former self."

Ryuzaki's dull eyes watch him, searching for any sign of deception. But Light knows well enough how to play innocent. It's a technique some must learn and others know naturally. Actors spend years perfecting deception. Light had been born with it, as if it were a birthmark engraved into his skin.

The pale man presses his finger to his lips almost by habit. A part of Light wants to convince himself this is L reborn. But simply speaking and moving like the real L does not constitute a match.

"I don't trust you, Yagami-kun," Ryuzaki admits. "I doubt I ever will. In this life or the next, whichever life we were created to endure. If you were to die, I wouldn't lose sleep."

"That's fine. But I'm not going to allow you to bully my intentions or my reasoning quietly anymore." He continues to fight back his emotions from spilling through. "From now on, I will stand with my beliefs, even against you. And, if you don't like them, then that's your opinion."

Ryuzaki's eyes narrow and his fingers stroke the scythe's handle. "Ninety-four," he says.

"What?"

"Ninety-four percent. That's how much I don't trust you." His scowl shapes into a crooked grin. "Congratulations, thanks to your little speech, I'm now six percent less likely to hate you."

Light scoffs. "I should consider myself lucky then."

"Until that number hits zero, you're never lucky." Ryuzaki nods over his shoulder. "So are we moving?"

"Yes," Light says. "I couldn't find a crew, so I've come to the conclusion that this ship travels as if on autopilot."

The duo returns outside to the deck where the fog cloaks the world so much, it seems as if the ship is sailing through a never-ending gray cloud. The foul odor clings to his nose like an infant to a mother's breast, and Light stunts his breathing before he passes out. He had almost forgotten that he doesn't need to breathe, but by now it's a force of habit.

"How much time do you believe has passed?" Ryuzaki asks, examining the broken main mast.

"Not enough," Light answers. "Perhaps there's a way to pick up speed." He surveys the deck and finds an entrance leading down into the ship's hull, finding no cannonballs where they should be seated attentively, ready to fire onto incoming danger. If this were a true pirate ship, someone would have shown their face already and forced him into the brig.

The brig.

Light descends several flights of stairs to reach it. Instantly, he hears a voice singing in jubilance. Walking with caution, he enters the brig, a place that has been overrun with cobwebs and the skeletal remains of human and animal-like Shinigami. Some remains look genuinely frightful, almost prehistoric. The singing lures him like a light in the darkest of places. For some reason, no matter how much his mind tells his feet to stop following, the singing draws him closer. The familiarity in its tone keeps him moving, never stopping to rest. His body is a slave to the music's divine enchantment.

He turns a corner and comes across a blonde figure sitting in the darkness beyond a set of cell bars. At first, it looks like nothing more than a head floating, but upon closer inspection he notices the black dress and bowties on either pigtail. The siren call comes to an end as the person turns around to face him.

If Light's heart could beat, it would have stopped at this very moment. His mouth hangs open, and his eyes widen in the same way they did when he first saw Ryuzaki's manifestation form from his own blood.

"Misa?"

* * *

 **A/A/N** : I honestly had no idea where I was going with this. I thought I'd end the chapter with our boys arriving at the City of Gods. But I guess this story has taken on a mind of it's own. Well, can't help it…


	11. Chapter 11

10\. HEARTBREAK

* * *

 **A/N** : So, I think I'm going to go back and delete most of the author's notes I've made (including this one eventually) throughout this story because the vast majority of them are trivial and disruptive. Beyond this point, I will only comment if there's necessary information I'd like to share with you guys.

* * *

It's nostalgic, practically surreal. Misa Amane standing before him with only a few bars in between. Though bars alone can't keep her subdued for long. Anything in her way to him perishes. Anyone perishes. Perhaps that would explain the graveyard of Shinigami bones surrounding them. Light doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sight of her. She's as she's always been; beautiful, colorful, gothic, and innocent, but only by appearance alone. It would be a crime to think any corruption has reached her exterior self.

"Misa," he breathes. "How did—?"

"Kira?" Her blue eyes widen, and she rushes to the cell door, slamming into it. "Kira, is that really you, my love?"

She reaches for him, waving her hand blindly in the air, but he's wary of what stands before him. He has to consider this might be another apparition come to haunt him like in the desert.

"Kira." Tears well in her eyes. "Why did you reject me?"

"What?"

"You said you had no need of me. You said you couldn't make use of a stupid girl like myself." Her head dips. "You said you'd rather I die than be a part of your world."

This has to be another apparition. "That's not true. I never said such lies. You're not Misa Amane." Light's eyes wander around the brig. _Kami, enough with your petty hallucinations._ "Come find me if you wish to break me," he challenges.

But nothing happens.

Misa raises her head. "Who are you talking to, Kira?"

Light's jaw tightens. "Nobody." He turns away.

"Wait," Misa cries. "Is that it? Is that all I am to you? You wish to throw me aside yet again after all this time?"

"Sorry, but you're not the Misa Amane I knew," Light explains. "The real Misa had worked for me. She was the Second Kira. We were even engaged. She would have remembered my true name."

"But isn't Kira your true name?" She watches him with genuine shock, and Light can't help but trust that she truly believes what she is saying. Her ocean eyes continue to form tears, and a knot grows in his chest that he initially excuses as false sympathy.

He folds his arms and furrows his brow. "Who is Kira to you?"

"Kira is _everything_ ," she cries. "Kira is my heart. My soul mate. My savior. My reason for living. Kira is absolute."

She sounds like the Misa Amane at their first meeting when she begged him to let her serve him in exchange for his love, which he gave **to** her in sparse, fragile amounts. Sexual attraction had always been Light's prerogative. He could flick on the charm, and girls would be drawn to him like stray cats to milk. That much was never an issue for Light, even in the most desperate situations. But romance—love, affection, compassion for another—were all foreigners. He'd known love for his family, concern for when Mello had kidnapped his sister, Sayu, but he always considered a Plan B. Sacrifice his sister, or sacrifice his perfect world? Thankfully, he never had to choose.

Even though this can very well be a different Misa than the one he endured and lived with for longer than desired, a window of opportunity creaks open, and an idea comes to mind.

"Is that so?" Light reaches up and touches her hand on the cell door. Misa flinches but doesn't recoil. His expression softens to evoke a sense of admiration. "How would you feel if I told you I needed you now?"

Her lips part, and he wipes away the tears in her eyes generously, careful not to irritate their blue hue. Her skin is soft and porcelain as it always has been. If an apparition stands before him, Kami has done his work well.

"Kira," she says, almost breathless.

He shushes her. "You still haven't answered my question." Though it comes across as a demand, Light keeps his intonation soft and low, absent any trill. The look he gives her is both encouraging and authoritative. An expression he's perfected over time.

Her face flushes. "I would feel—"

"What are you doing?"

Light jerks his head toward the brig's entrance where Ryuzaki leans against the wall. His eyes hide beneath his thick bangs, but Light feels them wander from him to Misa with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

Light drops his hand and pockets it. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to question your intentions with…" He tilts his head and purses his lips. "This pretty creature."

"Are you a friend of Kira's?" Misa asks.

"Are you?" Ryuzaki replies.

"Oh, no," she says, and grabs Light's arm through the bars. "Kira and I are lovers. He's my world."

Ryuzaki falls silent and then steps forward. "Yagami-kun."

Light tenses. "What?"

"I'm interested to know how scum like you could acquire such beauty like this."

"Kira isn't scum!"

Ryuzaki blinks. "Beauty and boldness. Shame she's wasted on you. Unless…you care to share, Yagami-kun?"

" _Huh_?" Light and Misa say in unison.

"You heard me."

Misa scrunches her nose. "Pervert."

"Pervert?" Ryuzaki sounds genuinely shocked. "I'm a pervert?"

"Enough," Light interjects, turning back to Misa. "I'm getting you out, and you're coming with us." He fiddles with the cell's hinges. It won't budge. His eyes search for a key in the vicinity, but he can't find one. "Ryuzaki, can you help me break this?"

Ryuzaki taps his finger to his chin. "Oh? And what do I get out of this?" His eyes linger on Misa.

Light considers his options. Only one plausible solution comes to mind. "If you help, Misa will give you a kiss."

"What? No way, I—"

The glare he shoots her shuts her up instantly.

"A kiss?" Ryuzaki presses his finger to his bottom lip, forming an indent in his pale skin with his nail. "That sounds…enticing." He takes the scythe and clenches it firmly between his fingers. With a gesture of his head, he says, "You two better move unless you want a few fingers off."

Light moves aside, and Misa presses her back against the cell wall. Ryuzaki lifts the scythe above his head and strikes the door handle. A loud ringing pierces everyone's ears and sparks fly between the blade and the metal. When the ringing stops, the handle remains.

"Interesting," Ryuzaki says with a quizzical cock of the head. He attempts another strike but receives the same result.

Light's excitement sinks. "What do you mean 'interesting'? Why won't it come off?"

Ryuzaki shrugs. "Yes, yes, of course I would know. That's why I tried to break it twice," he retorts.

"I know."

They both turn to Misa, whose head dips, shadowing most of her face with her blonde bangs. Her back rests against the cell wall, leaving a sufficient amount of space between herself and the two men.

"Ever since I found out Kira killed the one who murdered my parents, I had wanted to serve him. I wanted to help him build a perfect world, no matter the risks. I thought that if I went to his house and met him in person, he would have use of me. But Kira turned me away. Without Kira, I was nothing. I was just a silly girl filled with silly dreams. In what perfect world could a fool like me find reason?" Her head rises. The light in her eyes has extinguished. "There was no place for me, so I erased myself from the world."

A sickness builds in Light's stomach—one that he cannot subdue. It expands like branches on a tree and reaches his throat. "I need you now. Come with me. I'll make use of you."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry Kira. I'm sorry for being a disappointment. I'm sorry for being born."

"Misa, I—" Light begins to say but notices something out of the corner of his eye. It appears as if the wall behind her has started crumbling. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it's her hand turning to dust.

Tears pour down her cheeks. "Goodbye, Kira-kun."

Light opens his mouth to say something, but her form shatters like glass and sprinkles to the floor in a million pieces.

"Shame," Ryuzaki says. "I was really looking forward to that kiss."

Light hesitates. "It's strange."

"What?"

He turns to Ryuzaki. "Though I may have used her for my own needs and found her personality rather revolting, I've always admired her loyalty. She'd put her own safety in jeopardy to ensure my plans were met. It's strange to think that even now, even when she didn't know my real name, she never accused me of anything. She always loved me."

"And you played her like a fiddle. You sure are a dick, Yagami-kun."

Light stifles a laugh that causes Ryuzaki's brow to rise. "Yeah, I sure am, aren't I?"

"And she's a stupid girl for loving a beast like you."

"Love makes us blind to many things," Light agrees. "Sometimes the most obvious lies can be overlooked."

Ryuzaki studies his face. "You told her you loved her back?"

Light nods.

Ryuzaki's jaw tightens. "Lying to a lovestruck girl in order to carry on with your nefarious plans unchallenged. Very wise and also very malicious. No true bringer of justice could commit such unlawfulness and expect a perfect world. You've broken a young girl's heart. Who's to say you wouldn't have broken a lot more hearts had your plan succeeded?"

The words sink into him like a tattoo. Light finds an answer after sifting through a web of egotistical retorts he has saved. "Perhaps there is some good in knowing that I failed the first time."

"The first time?" Ryuzaki has caught him. "Do you think you can repeat the same cycle over? You don't have any power here. You don't have a homicidal notebook to command. You don't have followers or worshippers. You have nothing, Light Yagami."

Light clenches his hands into fists and fights back his pride from getting the best of him. "Didn't I ask you before not to insult me?"

"Am I insulting you? If I were, I'd tell you you're an arrogant fool attempting to play God all over again. I'm not insulting you, I'm only stating what's true—your predicament now is the complete opposite of what you were in life. In life, you had all the wealth of knowledge, popularity, and deception at your disposal. Slide in a dash of luck by finding the Death Note, and you were on your way to becoming the most powerful being in the mortal world. Here, the most luck you've acquired is being resurrected because of your past self's achievements."

Before Light can have his say, the floor below them shudders and jerks, sending them both off balance.

Light's cheek hits the wall, but he recovers. "What happened?"

"I think we've stopped," Ryuzaki says, recovering. "Let's head up."

Light takes one final look at the cell where Misa had stood not too long ago and then follows the pale man.

Back on the deck, the two scope their surroundings. The fog has lifted enough to see a large rock formation in their ship's path. The anchor has set itself down into the black water. Light leans over the edge of the vessel and sees what appears to be a dock made out of bones.

"I think we're here," he says.

Ryuzaki jumps off and lands softly on the dock, about thirty feet below. Unsure of how fragile his bones are, Light finds rope, tosses it over, and belays down until his feet touch the dock. Ryuzaki has already created some space between them, standing atop a nearby hill. He faces away from Light, but his head doesn't move. Maybe he has found something.

Light joins him.

What he sees is perhaps the most disturbing sight thus far. Across a barren plain of bones and mud, a line of Shinigami, all chained together, limp, crawl, and trudge through thick mud as a whip cracks behind them, snapping against their backs on occasion and releasing a cry or a wail from their mouths. The sounds of their agony peel away at Light's conscience. In what world, even an immortal world, does slavery have a right to exist? He presses his lips together and turns his head. No, this is not his place to decide. Not until he's successfully freed himself from his own enslavement. Once he's taken care of his misfortune, he'll return to this and see what can be done.

One Shinigami slave stumbles, causing a rift in the line. A slaver hops down from a perch and gives it three lashes, and pieces of its flesh fly into the air. The brand on Light's shoulder blade aches. The ache rises in severity until its starts to burn, making him wince.

Only one being is capable of causing this...

Light looks to his left but doesn't find Ryuzaki standing there. Panic washes over him, and he vehemently searches for the pale-skinned manifestation. His eyes lock onto a figure rushing across the plain toward the slavers and their chained prisoners. His throat tightens, but he holds back from screaming Ryuzaki's name. His voice won't be enough to stop his charge. Light has no choice but to make a break for him before the slavers take notice.

Ryuzaki has his scythe out at the ready.

 _That fucking idiot_!

Light makes strides, but he knows he's still too far away by the time Ryuzaki reaches the nearest slaver.

He chops the Shinigami's head off its shoulders, reducing the rest of its body to a pile of dust. The three remaining slavers instantly take notice, raise their whips over their heads, and toss them out like fishing lines. The ropes wrap around Ryuzaki's right arm, neck, and left leg. The scythe slips from his grip. The slavers pull, sending him to the ground in a ball of struggling defeat. One slaver tosses a net over him that sticks to his body and muffles his protests.

Light is too late.

"Oi, we've got two of 'em!"

In his peripheral vision, a whip reaches for him.


	12. Chapter 12

11\. CAPTURED

* * *

Chains.

That's all he listens to as the wagon wheels across the muddy land. Light wouldn't be surprised if he's being brought back to Kami. The collar around his neck has been fasted too tight, but he dare not risk a lashing should he complain of any discomfort. If he does somehow survive through this mess, he hopes to never hear chains again. They've become a sound of annoyance.

The wagon reeks of all the things he'd rather not smell—piss, shit, mud, rotting flesh. Two Shinigami slaves sit on either side of him. Each time the wagon's wheels hit a rock, one or both of them fall into Light, invading his personal space. He groans subtly enough that nobody notices except the person sitting across from him, who has his knees hiked up to his chest.

Light glares at Ryuzaki, doing everything in his power to make sure the expression tells the pale man precisely how irate he feels. Ryuzaki should consider himself lucky. If not for their imprisonment, Light would have thought about strangling him. This is, after all, his fault.

"Never seen Shinigami like you before," the slave to Light's right says. Its four red eyes focus on him. "Didn't think any human-like Shinigami existed." It raises a finger to poke Light's face, and Light jerks away, threatening it with his eyes.

"We're not technically Shinigami," Ryuzaki answers.

"Oh? Then what are you?"

The two men exchange glances.

"Nothing that would be of concern to you," Light snaps. His temper sizzles. "Now where does this wagon lead?"

"To the city."

"The City of Gods?"

The four-eyed slave nods, and a sidelong smile crawls up Light's face. It may be the most unorthodox and embarrassing means of entry, but at least he's heading to the correct destination.

"Good," he breathes.

"Good?" another slave with pig's head for a face says. "How in any way is this good? We're slaves. We're not going to be treated like royalty. Nobody's going to pull the red carpet out for us. We're going to the bottom of the fucking barrel." It kicks Light's foot for emphasis.

Light pulls his knees into his chest. "Where exactly is that?"

"The Pits."

The name is enough to make Light's stomach churn.

"Sounds like a grand ol' time," Ryuzaki quips. "Too bad I forgot to dress the part." He flutters his cloak.

"How can you make a jest of this?" the pig-faced slave asks, flabbergasted. "The Pits are where we'll be sold like cattle and then tossed into a fighting ring where they'll bet on us. The one who walks away with most of his limbs will be lucky enough to find a master willing to take them out of the fray."

Light frowns. "Since when has the slave trade existed? I thought all Shinigami do is gamble and write mortals' names in their Death Notes?"

"True. But the boss thought we could use some more methods of…entertainment. Fighting is a big deal in the human realm, so the boss got the idea to bring it here."

"You mean the god king?" Light asks, and the pig-faced slave nods. Light's jaw tightens. His eyes wander to Ryuzaki, who looks as if he's trying to decipher Light's expression. As much as he wishes to punch the pale man, Light needs to form alliances. And the closest thing to an ally sits across from him, staring at him like he wants to cut Light's throat open and spill all his guts across the wagon's floor. How welcoming.

The wagon jerks forward, coming to a halt. Light falls into another slave, who shrugs him off and shoots him a leer with its black eyes.

Sounds like footsteps come around the side and open the wagon doors to the gray world.

"Everybody out," the slaver's voice rumbles like thunder, making the majority inside the wagon jump to their feet. A black mask obscures its face. The whip in its hand cracks, frightening the rest to their feet. "Come out one at a time. Anybody who tries to run will get five lashes."

The slaver tugs on the nearest slave's chains, pulling him out. One-by-one, the wagon empties of its contents. Light jumps out after a Shinigami in between him and Ryuzaki and takes immediate notice of the large amphitheater before them crafted entirely of bone and jagged rock. It looks like the remains of a colossal beast. Blue torches light its perimeter.

The slaves are shoved into a single-file line. Light only turns away from the spectacle when a whip cracks next to his ear, startling him into attention. The handcuffs around his wrists tighten, as if sensing his evolving dread. When the slavers aren't paying attention, Light turns to look at Ryuzaki, who appears unusually morose.

One slaver goes down the line, tossing something in front of each slave's feet. Light's gaze falls to a shining piece of metal. A knife.

"Pick it up," the slaver orders.

Light obeys. The blade is sharp enough that he cuts his finger. It bleeds, and Light expects the wound to heal in moments, but it doesn't. His brow furrows.

"Surprised, whelp?" the slaver says, kicking Light back into line. "It's a special kind of knife drenched in a special kind of salve that's capable of hacking the toughest hide. Not even immortal gods like you are impervious to it." A low chortle escapes through his mask as he continues down the line.

This truly is like he's been cast away and thrust back in time to ancient Rome. Light admits to himself that studying the settlement had been one of the few highlights of his education. He possessed an uncanny fondness for the culture and the arts. Had he been given the opportunity, he would've gladly traveled abroad for a semester to Italy during his time at university. But that was back when he didn't need to worry about looming perils. Now he stood before the amphitheater, unprepared to fight or even wield a weapon. In his past life, no matter how cornered he felt, he never dared hold a gun. Here, this knife will surely be his only ally unless he can devise a feasible plan soon.

He needs Ryuzaki for this.

No, Ryuzaki might do something impulsive.

But if Ryuzaki wants to find his purpose in life…

Light's mind vacillates between doubts and possibilities until another crack of the whip snaps him out of his reverie.

One of the doors to the amphitheater opens, and a Shinigami with a huge fissure on its head and teeth that could rip through flesh quicker than the knife in Light's hand steps out. Its head seems to be held together by stitches, perhaps an old battle scar obtained in the Pits. A red cloak embroidered with the skulls of small animals hangs over the Shinigami's shoulders. Its seven-foot tall figure takes a seat on a throne that several followers have pulled out for it. If Light had once thought Ryuk's appearance was terrifying, Ryuk would look pathetic in comparison to this monstrosity.

With a flick of monster's wrist, the two slavers go down the end of the line again, shoving the farthest slave forward in front of the looming giant. The slave falls to his knees.

"You are in the presence of Kinddara Guivelostain," one of the monster's followers announces. "Overseer of The Fighting Pits, Left Hand of God, and the Queen of Blood."

Kinddara. So she's the one Light must speak to regarding his Death Note's whereabouts. But, given his predicament, he can't seize a chance. Instead, he decides to observe.

An eerie silence wedges through the land. The slave remains still, perhaps fearful that any sudden movement will cause its head to fly off.

"Stand." The voice that comes out is unexpectedly rich and feminine. "What's your name?"

"M-Methos," the slave stutters, standing on wobbling legs.

"Is this your first time here to the Pits?"

Methos nods.

Kinddara opens her hand, and one of her followers slides a Death Note in between her fingers. "Is this yours?" She dangles it between her pointer finger and thumb.

"Y-yes."

With another flick of her wrist, a match lands into her other hand. Kinddara lights it against the corner of the Death Note, and the entire notebook goes up in flames.

Methos begins screaming. Not crying. _Screaming_. His body catches in blue flames, and he trips and falls and rolls around the floor in a feeble attempt to douse them. His rolling form shrinks in size until there is nothing left of either Methos or his Death Note.

Several slaves, including Light, shrink back in horror.

"Get back in line you damn maggots!" one of the slavers demands, cracking the whip.

Light and most others hastily obey, but one slave hesitates and gets a lash across its back, making everyone around it jump in fear of similar treatment. Kinddara's maw seems to expand in response.

The line continues, and Light watches as some slaves manage to impress Kinddara enough to survive a torturous end, while others slip up and say something that doesn't please her.

Finally, Ryuzaki is pushed forward.

Kinddara examines him a few seconds longer than the rest. "You're neither rotting nor rotten. Name?"

He doesn't respond.

A slaver kicks him in the back. "Answer the queen, maggot!"

"Ryuzaki."

"Is this your first time here in the fighting pits?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever killed a man?"

"I've killed men," Ryuzaki corrects. "Shinigami."

Despite having no visible eyes, Light feels Kinddara narrow hers at Ryuzaki, searching for any sign of deception. When she holds out her hand for a Death Note, her followers hesitate.

"What is it?" she demands.

"We have no Death Note of his in our possession."

Kinddara cocks her head to the side. "And why's that?"

Her followers exchange looks.

"Perhaps his had been destroyed before the rules were changed," one follower suggests.

"I don't have a Death Note," Ryuzaki explains. "I was brought back to life by your so-called god king. I don't care for any Death Notes or weaknesses or boring chatter. If you want me to fight, I will. If you want me to kill, I will. That's all I know how to do. It's what I'm good at."

The entire land falls silent for a moment, and then waves of gasps fill the air. It feels like something has disturbed the very world itself. As if the sky has been split in half by Ryuzaki's ignorance alone. Light tenses, afraid his companion has dug his own grave. The brand on the back of his shoulder aches. He wants to look away but can't.

All of a sudden, a burst of laughter escapes Kinddara's maw, shaking the ground beneath Light's feet, startling him and others.

"You I like," she says with jubilance. "It's been a while since I've seen anyone with such thirst for bloodshed. I will have my eye on you in the fight to come."

The slavers push Ryuzaki back into line, and Light catches the subtlest grin on his gaunt face.

 _How can he possibly find this amusing_?

The next one up is the pigheaded Shinigami.

"Name?"

"Buta, Your Highness," he replies, steadying his shaking voice. Despite being twice Light's size, he's barely able to hold himself together before Kinddara.

"Your Highness?" she says, impressed. "I like the sound of that."

Buta smiles. "Yes, yes, Your Highness. My Queen. Your Grace—" he's cut off by her raised hand.

A Death Note slides its way in between her skeletal fingers. "Have you ever fought in the fighting pits before?"

"N-no, Your Highness."

"No?" she says. "Well, that is unfortunate." She opens the Death Note and peels a piece of paper out. Buta winces. "The Pits are created based on customs from ancient human civilizations. People would pay to witness other people kill each other. They'd root for the most brutal, the most feared, and the most inhumane. They'd never root for the weak, petty, or docile." She strips the piece of the Death Note in half and then into quarters. "The weak are nothing but pieces of meat to be hacked apart." Once she has broken the piece of paper down into tiny crumbles, she lets the wind carry them off, scattering them. "You're large in size, but you lack what I need. Fire."

Buta opens his mouth to say something, but Kinddara tears his Death Note in half and feeds it to the mud. Buta's body splits apart as if an axe has cut through him. One half falls to one side and the other to another side before a black mass of nothing consumes his being.

Light steadies himself on shaking legs at the realization that he now must face Kinddara. A slaver pushes him forward, and the look Ryuzaki flashes him is not one of good fortune.

The slaver pushes Light into the mud before Kinddara's throne. If his hands had been freed from the chains, he could reach out and stroke her cloak of animal skulls.

Like Ryuzaki, Kinddara takes time to inspect Light over before saying, "Name?"

"Light Yagami."

"Light Yagami," Kinddara says in an amused tone. "What are you supposed to be? Your weird name would imply you've done something quite impactful."

Some of her followers cackle.

Light has surmised by the way Kinddara reacts and slaves react to her that any sign of weakness is a strict no. Should he stutter or hesitate, he'll risk a one-way ticket to hell. _Real_ hell. He can feel Kami's eyes lurking. "Actually I have," Light says, standing. "Ever heard of Kira?"

Kinddara pauses, and her teeth grind together as if in thought. He senses that she knows the name. "Perhaps. Why?"

Light smirks. "Because I _am_ Kira."

Whispers.

"Are you?" Kinddara leans forward. "Prove it."

But Light shakes his head and lifts the chains around his wrists. "With all do respect, Your Highness, I cannot showcase my talent while bound."

"I'm sure you can make do, _Kira_ ," Kinddara mocks.

Light frowns. Playing nice won't work. He has to take the plunge. "As Kira, I demand you release me. I was the god of the new world. I eradicated the unlawful. I turned the judicial system on its head. I changed the way society lived. I do not take orders. I command them. I will give you blood. I am absolute."

A painful silence squeezes through. One can cut it with a knife. It feels like an eternity passes before Kinddara replies, "I think I can make do without." She flicks her wrist and nods.

A slaver grabs Light by the back of the neck and raises something long and heavy above its head.

Light is dumbfounded. He had done everything accordingly. Why must he get the axe and not Ryuzaki? "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Your rambling bores me," Kinddara says matter-of-factly. "You die."

"No," Light screams. "If I die then he'll die, too!"

The slaver hesitates.

Kinddara nods again, and the large shadow over Light's head disappears. "What are you babbling about now?"

"If I die, Ryuzaki dies."

Kinddara fiddles with the embroidery on her cloak. "And why's that?"

"I can prove it," Light says, gesturing with his head. "Look at the back of my shoulder. _Look_."

Kinddara taps her finger on the chair, and her maw expands as if grinning. "Fine, I'll play along."

The slaver rips Light's long coat from the collar and pulls it down so everyone can see his naked back. Light feels all eyes on the L-shaped brand, trying to decipher if he's bluffing or speaks the truth. He has visual proof. Now how to convince them that it works without having to sacrifice himself first?

Kinddara whispers something to a follower, who shakes its head in response. "How do I know they're connected?"

"We could kill him," a slaver proposes.

"We could," Kinddara agrees.

"Are you sure you want to risk losing a good means of entertainment?" Light asks, doing well to intone his voice so as not to sound too smug or too shaken. His voice comes out perfectly symmetrical.

Kinddara pauses and then lifts her head as if looking over Light's shoulder. "You. Ryuzaki, was it? Is this true? If he dies, you die?"

A mass forms in Light's stomach. Ryuzaki will never side with him. He closes his eyes in defeat. It feels like the world around him evaporates and he's freefalling into nothingness. Soon, Kami will come for him.

"I can't exist without him," Ryuzaki replies.

Light's eyes shoot open.

After some thought, Kinddara says, "Very well." With a subtle command, Light is pulled back into line next to Ryuzaki and the judgment of slaves continues as usual.

That night, when the gray sky darkens, and the surviving seven slaves are placed into holding cells, Light sits down next to Ryuzaki, who has found a perch near the lone window.

"Why did you save me? I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you." Ryuzaki's dark gaze remains on what's outside of the window. "But without you, I don't have anyone to use as a punching bag—at least in the meantime. A part of me couldn't stand the idea of you dying in such a pathetic way. Feels like I'm the one who loses if I don't kill you myself." A sigh escapes through his nose. "Where is there a world where death is a friend instead of an enemy?"

Light follows his companion's eyes out to the gray world beyond the window. The amphitheater is in sight. The blue flames have dimmed, resting for the eve. "Death is absolute."

"Just like Kira?"

Light has a retort but lets it disappear into the back of his head. "Just like Kira," he echoes.

Ryuzaki faces him. "When you had the power of Kira, did it ever cross your mind to stop?"

The question comes out faster and more nonchalantly than Light expects. "No," he admits. "If I had stopped, the power of Kira would have been given to someone else. Someone unqualified."

"Unqualified?" Ryuzaki says, pressing his finger to his bottom lip. "So you're saying you couldn't let the world make its own choices? You had to interfere—to change it somehow? You couldn't just accept that some things in the world are meant to be unfortunate?"

"That's not true," Light hisses. "I was given a purpose. I was the only one who could rectify the world's evils. I _had_ to do it."

But Ryuzaki doesn't seem convinced. "Believe what you want, you're not Kira anymore, and you never will be again. You can't keep clinging to a ghost."

"At least I know myself," Light snaps back.

The look Ryuzaki shoots him is murderous and raw, and Light prepares for his head to fly off his shoulders. But the pale man leans back and sighs, returning his attention onto the mundane world outside. "I suppose it's useless trying to convince you with words. You'll learn soon enough that power you possessed will no longer aid you. And when you do realize it, I'll be there. That is the day I'll respect you as Kira—the day of your death. The day you accept that you were a pathetic, weak-minded boy with pathetic, weak-minded dreams. Justice will serve you."

Light nods. "That's fair. Kill me, butcher me, and take your revenge as you see fit, but I won't go down groveling. You're not L, and you never will be. L was more terrifying than your petty threats. He didn't need a weapon like a sword or scythe to defeat his enemies. His mind alone was enough. As is mine. I respected him, and, to this day, I'll always remember him as the only one capable of challenging me. We're equals on opposite sides of no man's land."

A crooked smile crawls up Ryuzaki's face. "What a monster you are. I wonder what kind of charade you would have used had you never picked up the Death Note. Or was it the notebook that corrupted you? Did your family ever figure out what you were? They must have been mortified."

Light remembers the faint words of Ryuk echoing in his head. Saying that he'd be the one to kill Light. He shrugs. "Why does it matter? You've seen what I am. You're a part of me. You have my memories. You could decide for yourself."

"I've already decided," Ryuzaki says.

Light tenses.

"I've decided that you're going to lose tomorrow."


	13. Chapter 13

12\. BLOOD

* * *

After a sleepless night, Light deduces that he has no need for such a human necessity. His fatigue hasn't altered, and his mind remains lucid. In his past life, he frequently endured one-nighters, sometimes two-nighters, and his body suffered greatly for it. A few friends would comment on his excessive weight lose and gaunt appearance. Light found himself stuffing his face with junk food to secure the façade that he was in good health.

He would consider himself relieved right now if not for Ryuzaki's warning the night before and the impending fight. What time it starts, he doesn't know. But as the gray world outside the window starts to brighten, he notices the blue flames on the amphitheater strengthen, signifying daybreak.

A door unlocks, and a Shinigami with a carapace stands before their cell. "Time to go, slaves."

Ryuzaki stands eagerly, but Light hesitates.

The Shinigami slams its fist against the cell door. "Up. _Now_."

Light jumps to his feet and follows Ryuzaki out the door and into the hallway where several other slaves stand waiting, more than those that had been spared yesterday. The amount of slaves total a dozen, including Light and Ryuzaki. They vary in size and appearance. Some look almost human, while others are as far from human as possible.

The door opens again and Kinddara enters. "I expect a good fight today," she says. "Your first and only match will be to the death. You have just your knife to protect you. The winner will earn any wish."

The one thing keeping Light from losing his sanity is the knife in his pocket. It stands as the single barrier between his death and finding the Death Note with his name written inside it. But Light's never been a fighter in the traditional sense of the word. The closest fight he had ever engaged in was with L when they were handcuffed together, and that wasn't necessarily a fight for his life but a fight to prove his innocence. This will be something completely different. And his adversaries do not look merciful.

He has to convince Ryuzaki somehow.

Kinddara saunters down the line of slaves until she comes to the two most human ones of them all. She gives Ryuzaki a nod and Light pause, as if glaring with her nonexistent eyes. "Try not to bleed too early, whelp." She turns on her heel and returns to the entrance.

"I like her," Ryuzaki says.

"You have questionable taste in women," Light notes.

"It's her callousness that I admire, not her looks." His eyes stare at Kinddara's cloak. "How do you intend to survive this?"

"I have a few ideas."

"Name one."

Light gives him a meaningful look.

Ryuzaki sighs. "So, you still expect me to help you even after I clearly stated that you'd lose?"

"I haven't forgotten what you said. But if you kill me in the arena, you'll have no way of knowing why you were brought back and what your true purpose is. Kinddara certainly won't help you."

"I'll just find the Death Note myself."

Light shakes his head. "The Death Note has _my_ name in it. If I die, it'll probably disappear, and if it disappears, you won't be able to decipher it's meaning. And if you can't decipher it's meaning—"

"All right. Shut up." Ryuzaki massages his temples. "Your death will bring me so much relief, but you're necessary for now."

Light hides a sidelong smile. That was easier than expected. L would have accused him of many things and run a series of test questions. Light may not be as blood thirsty as Ryuzaki, but, if anything, he's adaptable. He will use Ryuzaki as his shield for the time being until he figures out a method to rid himself of this burden.

When Kinddara has taken her leave, two slavers walk around and chain something else to each slave—two at a time. When one reaches Light, he jerks away.

"What is that?"

"A present," the slaver quips, grabbing his arm and lacing a manacle around his left wrist. He does the same to Ryuzaki.

Light realizes that the manacles connect, chaining them together just like how he and L had been chained all those years ago. It's almost comedic how history repeats itself in such subtle ways, and he chuckles sardonically.

"Enjoy, maggot," the slaver says, kicking Light's shin for emphasis.

He groans and falls against the wall.

Ryuzaki examines the chain connecting them. "Well, this is quite…" He purses his lips, searching for the appropriate word.

"Disappointing," Light answers for him, coming back to standing.

"I was going to say nostalgic, but yes."

The slaves are funneled into a neighboring hallway directly underneath the arena. Light can hear the thundering of feet and cheers from above the rattling ceiling.

"Don't piss yourself," Ryuzaki mumbles behind him.

"I seriously doubt that's possible," Light counters.

"So what's your nefarious plan?"

Light makes sure they're out of earshot before giving every small detail he has locked in his mind to the pale man. Ryuzaki listens, his eyes occasionally narrow in question, but he never interjects. As soon as Light finishes, a gate opens, and the two are jostled toward its dim light as a wave of slaves prepare to enter the arena. The chain connecting them goes taut as both men are torn away from each other briefly in the stampede. Light feels the manacle sink into his wrist and winces from the sharp ache.

Light has almost forgotten how much he despises crowds. Whenever he stood in the midst of one, be it of strangers or of friends, he'd count every passing minute until he could find an escape route. The body heat. The lack of space. The brushing of skin against skin. The claustrophobic atmosphere. He despises it all to this day still.

He weaves through the pile up and presses himself against the wall, holding his hands to his chest to protect himself from being trampled by the stampede of frightening and eager Shinigami. But the reprieve is short-lived when the chain snaps taut again and jerks him back into the fray. He catches a glimpse of Ryuzaki's head in the crowd and tails it. The head leads him into an open area where an audience of onlookers consumes the entire perimeter. Before him, on the far side of the arena, rests the podium, where Kinddara sits on her throne, fingering her embroidered cloak idly. When Light feels her eyes on him, he hastily turns away. Fear is not the kind of emotion he wants to evoke. And it threatens to seize him at this very moment. He tightens his grip around his knife and pulls twice on the chain, hoping Ryuzaki will notice.

After being tosses around like a ragdoll, the crowd finds some stability, and the fighters are arranged into a single-file line. Kinddara stands, and the amphitheater falls silent.

"Good luck to our participants," she announces, her voice casts a hint of deception that Light notes. She doesn't really wish them luck. "The winner of this fight will receive any wish of his or her desire. Do not disappoint us." With that said, the queen lifts both of her boney hands into the air and claps them together.

The audience roars.

Light hears something whistle past his ear but gets pulled to the side just in time, narrowly avoiding decapitation. Ryuzaki clenches the chain between them in one hand and his knife in the other. He has protected him.

Light stumbles back, falling to the ground. A patch of hair is missing from the side of his head. His face begins to bleed. He hadn't expected the fight to begin _this_ soon.

Meanwhile, Ryuzaki dodges an opponent's knife and slices a hole across the brute's abdomen. A pile of guts and blood pour out, staining him. The brute keels over, dead. He jumps back next to Light but keeps his eyes alert on any future attackers. "If you intend to sit and die there, Yagami-kun, I suggest you let me know _now_!"

Light scrambles to his feet. He realizes his knife has slipped from his hand in that moment but has no time to search for it. Someone grabs him by the collar and pulls him back with so much force that both his feet come flying off the ground. He's pulled through the air like a ragdoll. Light tumbles and lands, noticing Ryuzaki has once again protected him from a fatal blow.

When he recovers, he watches Ryuzaki block a knife aimed at his throat with his hand. The blade sinks straight through his palm, coming out the opposite side. The pale man winces but grabs his opponent's hand before the knife slips out. His opponent tugs in a futile attempt to try and break free, giving Ryuzaki enough time to strike with his other hand, slicing the Shinigami's throat. Blood pours as quick and heavy as a waterfall onto the dirt.

 _So, gods can bleed_.

The audience hoots with blood thirst. Light catches a brief glimpse of Kinddara leaning forward, her maw opening slightly. Despite her monstrous face, Light can tell it's a look of amusement. Ryuzaki is giving her the show he had promised her.

When Light returns to his feet, something glimmers in the dirt nearby. His knife!

But he's not sure whether he should move to grab it—two Shinigami stand in his way, dancing in a duel of blades and fists. Ryuzaki has found a third adversary, keeping it off his companion. Light has never been a fighter, nor does he believe he ever will be, even if he makes it through this. But having some form of defense is better than having nothing. And Kinddara will show no mercy or admiration to a coward who's won only because he has a bodyguard.

Light dashes for the knife. In his peripheral vision, he notices someone after him, but he keeps going. The chain goes taut just as he slides to grab it, barely managing enough time between snatching it and feeling an intense weight on his body. His back is shoved into the ground, and a searing pain engulfs his left arm. He starts blindly stabbing away at whatever has attacked him, shutting his eyes and feeling hot blood spill across his face. All of a sudden, he imagines being back inside the warehouse getting shot numerous times by Matsuda. His adrenaline had somehow subdued the pain enough from blacking him out. But Light remembers all too well how hot and cold he felt simultaneously while lying there in a mixture of blood and water, begging for someone to rescue him.

Now feels just like then, and he continues his siege of blind strikes until the blade breaks and the weight above him leaves.

Light squints his eyes open to see Ryuzaki hovered above him. His body trembles. His skin and long coat have been doused in red. "It's just us now, Yagami-kun," he pants.

Light blinks and surveys the arena. All other fighters are either dead or too dismembered to fight. At that moment, he recognizes the full extent of the searing pain that had washed over him. His left arm lies a few feet away in the dirt, partially crushed, with the chain still attached to its wrist. Bones stick out like spines on a porcupine's back, and the muscles have been torn apart. Light cups his open shoulder and almost gags.

The roars from the audience are louder than ever, reverberating through the ground, making it shake. They all begin chanting the same word:

"Kill…kill… _kill_ …"

Light looks back up to Ryuzaki.

The expression on his companion's face reads exactly what the audience hopes for. They want blood. They'll get blood. The knife rises above Ryuzaki's head, and he grabs Light's collar with his other hand, prepared to sink the blade somewhere in between Light's neck and collarbone. It's a perfect area to strike—one that will ensure a quick and satisfying death.

"Ryuzaki," Light's voice peels through a meek shrill. This will be his end. Here. Now. By the same face of the person whose life Light had ended so many years ago. And for some strange, otherworldly reason, a tiny part of Light knows he deserves it.

The knife slips from the pale man's hand.

The amphitheater falls silent.

Ryuzaki's fingers release their hold on Light's collar, and he turns toward the podium. "This isn't my choice. It's either we both live or we both die. What do you decide?" he asks Kinddara.

The queen stands up promptly. A guttural growl escapes her throat. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You can't have one champion. If he dies, I die. That's how it is." Ryuzaki announces for all to hear. His voice resonates through the stands. "So choose between both of us or neither of us."

His knife's gleam in the dim sun catches Light's attention.

Kinddara pauses. Her head turns, as if scanning the audience for some form of assistance in her decision. If it were up to her alone, she'd kill them both outright, absent any hesitation. But this isn't entirely her decision. She had promised her viewers that one would stand above all else and be rewarded handsomely for his efforts. If she kills them both, she'll be labeled a liar. If she lets them both go, she'll be merciful. And, for the Queen of Blood, showing mercy would be an insult to her reputation.

But before she can make a decision, Ruzaki spits up blood. He cranes his neck around. Light stabs him again, and again, and again with his only hand until there is nothing left of Ryuzaki except a pile of blood and meat on the ground.

Light's remaining hand shakes violently as he finds his feet.

The audience gives a pause of stifled gasps before erupting into cheers.


	14. Chapter 14

13\. REWARD

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey, guys. So, as a special gift and thank you to all who have been keeping up with this story, I will be updating two chapters every week during the month of December instead of just one. Tune in every Saturday and Wednesday for new updates! -V

* * *

"Quite impressive," Kinddara says, clapping. "You tricked your own companion in order to save yourself. I can comfortably say that you've surprised me."

Light stands in Kinddara's private quarters, which rests on the highest peak of the amphitheater, much like a tower. There's no bed or place for someone to take rest. Only Kinddara's throne, that her retainers are forced to carry everywhere she goes, and a table containing a couple of empty wine glasses, a silver pitcher, and a bowl filled with Shinigami apples that resemble prunes, furnish the room. A window peaking out to the amphitheater adds something to the meager décor. It's certainly not the most lavish living conditions Light's ever seen, but, to Shinigami, this room amounts to royalty.

"It was necessary," Light says with pride.

Kinddara glides her boney finger along the pitcher's top and nods to Light. "Drink?"

"No, thank you."

But Kinddara pours him a glass anyway and hands it off to him. "No winner should refuse a celebratory drink."

Light takes the glass with his only hand and sniffs its contents. It doesn't have any pungent odor that would raise alarm. He taps some to his tongue. Not even an ounce of flavor. He drinks a sip to elude Kinddara's suspicion but wishes he hadn't as it gives him no pleasure. He now understands why Ryuk had chosen to leave the Shinigami world. Nothing, not even the wine, sates gods for very long.

"It's dull, isn't it?" she asks, as if knowing.

Light smiles weakly. "Well, it could use a bit more sweetener." Then he shakes his lone hand in the air. "Forgive me if I offended you, Your Grace, I was just hoping that the wine had more taste."

"I take no offense. This is what our father had worried about," she says. "We may be gods, we may have immortality and flight and power over the human realm, but we're not gaining anything by it."

"By father, do you mean the Shinigami king?"

"Father, overseer, ruler, creator," she lists. "He's everything we are and everything we'll ever be."

"I don't doubt it." Light takes another sip. "He truly is formidable. I've seen him myself. I could barely remain standing within the presence of such a influential and all-powerful being."

"Truly," she agrees.

Light taps the side of his drink and digs deeper. "I would imagine no one would dare cross him. Unless, of course, they wish to be sent to nothingness or somewhere even more horrible." He keeps his voice at a low octave, not breaking away to sound too charming or too formal. A blood rider like Kinddara doesn't care for flirtation or formalities.

"He's never been opposed," she says. "Not by me, or anyone."

Light finds a window of opportunity. "I'm surprised. You're the one who brings in the entertainment. You're the Queen of Blood. You should at least have some acknowledgement. You're brutality is wasted here in the Pits."

Kinddara fiddles with an animal skull on her cape. "Our father doesn't take kindly to unruly children. The fighting pits are new but they're all I know and have. Otherwise, I'd be like all the other scum out there wandering aimlessly through the wastes, searching for purpose."

He hadn't come here expecting to discuss the king with Kinddara. He came here to ask about his Death Note's whereabouts and, if possible, a new arm. But, for some reason, Light finds this conversation far more enticing. Like an apple hanging off a tree asking to be plucked and devoured. Here, Kinddara is spilling everything like some unknown force has commanded her to. A complete turn around from how she was before the fight. He can't walk away from something so tempting.

An idea emerges in Light's head. "What would happen if the king were somehow killed or usurped?"

Kinddara falls silent, and Light worries he may have jeopardized his chances. "I'm not sure. Nobody except Armonia would know that."

"Armonia?" Light wonders who she might be. Another high-ranking Shinigami, no doubt. Light groans at the thought of yet another obstacle in his way. But at least he may have a method of taking down the god king. "Where may I find this Armonia?"

Kinddara's nails sink into the cup, and she shakes her head and touches her face, as if coming out of some trance. "You…you're not leaving. The crowd still demands blood. You'll be fighting tomorrow."

It feels as if a boulder has fallen onto Light's chest. "Wait, I thought I was promised freedom once I'd won."

Something releases from Kinddara's throat that sounds somewhere in between a chortle and a scoff. "Come now, it shouldn't be hard for you. After all, you betrayed your closest companion. I can't allow someone as cold-hearted as you to leave. The audience wouldn't forgive me." She strolls over to the table and lifts the pitcher to reveal something underneath. "After all, you belong to me." She flaps the notebook in her hand.

Light's eyes widen at his Death Note.

Just then, the doors fly open and two followers charge in.

"Escort our champion to his quarters," Kinddara orders them. "I want him to be well prepared for tonight's celebratory banquet."

Before Light can say anymore, he's pulled out of Kiddara's quarters and half-dragged down a sharp flight of stairs to a room a few floors below. The room appears like another holding cell, only with a better view of the arena. The cell door locks behind him, leaving Light alone with the window and his half-empty cup of dull wine.

He places the wine down on the floor and takes a seat near the windowsill. Then he notices something moving in the corner of his eye. "You can come out now."

The wall across from him distorts, as if hiding an illusion. Then pieces of it fall to the ground and come together to form a puddle. The puddle rises and shapes into a solid form.

Ryuzaki cracks his neck and stretches out any tension in his body. "So, was my 'death' worth the information?"

"She has my Death Note," Light reveals.

The pale man flops down next to Light and nibbles on his bottom lip. "You didn't take it? Should I be surprised? You risked killing me in order to save yourself, but in doing so you missed your only chance of taking back the notebook. It's official—you're an idiot."

"She has my Death Note, and she's putting me back into the arena tomorrow," Light says between gritted teeth. "Another _fucking_ fight." He slams his only fist against the rock wall. "Even if I had asked for the Death Note back I doubt she would've let me walk out of here without another scratch." He glances at his empty left sleeve.

"Then let's break out," Ryuzaki proposes.

"That's ridiculous."

"Why?" Ryuzaki leans forward. "We're already in a bind. Why not add to the plate?"

"They'll know I'm gone before the celebratory banquet tonight. Besides, you remember who's responsible for getting us in here? _You_! If you hadn't attacked those slavers, we could have been in the city unchained. If not for you, I may have the Death Note right now. If not for y—"

Ryuzaki snatches Light's collar. "Don't. Insult. Me." His voice is thick and hoarse. Then he tosses Light to the ground. "If Kira had seen what those slavers were doing, he would've killed them. Don't think just because we're on the same side, you have a right to criticize me. I'm a lot stronger than before. And a lot _meaner_. Choose your words wisely, Light Yagami."

Light recovers and sits up. "I'm sorry." The perfunctory apology comes out with reluctance. After a pause, he says, "But we can't break out. That'll cause too much unwanted attention, and Kinddara may do something to my Death Note—burn it, rip it apart, we just can't."

Ryuzaki squats down to his level, the ire in his eyes simmering as quickly as it had arrived. "Then I guess you've got to play it her way." He purses his lips. "Unless…you challenge her directly."

Light raises a brow. "You have a proposal?"

"Tell me, Yagami-kun, from your experience, do all Shinigami possess Death Notes?"

Light nods.

"And do all these Death Notes act as phylacteries?"

"In the past, no. Shinigami could only die if they extended the life of someone who was meant to die. If a Shinigami dies, his or her notebook is left behind for someone else to take. Some can be in possession of two Death Notes." He remembers his own experience with this.

"Then why did those slaves die when their Death Note's were destroyed?"

Light shrugs. "I can only assume Kami has toyed with the status quo. He must be thinking of ways to entertain himself and his underlings. Why would they have fighting pits or slavery otherwise?"

"I see," Ryuzaki says, tapping his finger to his bottom lip. "He's even more ruthless than Kinddara."

"You still haven't told me your proposal."

"Ah, that's right." Ryuzaki raises both hands with his palms facing Light. "Imagine my hands are Kinddara's Death Note and your Death Note. What's the difference?"

Light looks back and forth between them and blinks. "There isn't one."

"Exactly," Ryuzaki says with a slight pitch change in his normally morose voice. "So if your Death Note is your Achille's heel, imagine what Kinddara's Death Note is to her."

"So your plan is to find Kinddara's Death Note and use it against her somehow?"

"Of course."

"That would be nice if I didn't have to worry about fighting tomorrow and also knew where it was."

Ryuzaki remains unfazed. "That's why you need to challenge her. Kinddara loves the masses. She feeds off their excitement. What better way to entertain them then to fight the Queen of Blood herself? That would be the fight of the century. No, the millennium." He bounces on the balls of his feet, as if giddy.

"She'd annihilate me."

"That's why I'll pose as you. Given that you can't fight, you'll be more valuable searching for her Death Note while I distract everyone." A short groan escapes his throat. "Yet again."

"And how will we do that if they're supposed to think you're dead?" Light counters, and gestures to his severed arm. "And I only have one arm here to work with, unlike you."

"Because you're going to stand up at the banquet tonight in front of everyone and challenge Kinddara herself. She won't be able to refuse in front of her people. Kinddara isn't like that. Tomorrow morning, I'll wear your clothes and obscure my face." He pulls his hood over his head for emphasis. "Kinddara won't ask questions. She can't show hesitation before an audience. As a lover of all fighting, she'll accept any challenger."

"True." Light thinks about how sparsely furnished Kinddara's room had been. "But what about the arm issue?"

Ryuzaki lifts the sleeve of Light's long coat to examine the severity. "The wound's still fresh." His lips purse. "I wonder." He rolls up the sleeve to expose the injury and then rolls up his own and grabs his forearm. Without much warning, he twists his left arm and then pops it out of its socket. Light tenses from the disturbing sound. Then he twists again and severs the limb from his being. Light stifles a gasp as Ryuzaki presses his severed limb against his companion's torn forearm. Slowly but surely, the skin repairs itself together like tiny threads. Once Ryuzaki's arm has been connected, Light squeezes the hand—his hand now— into a fist and feels the fingernails dig into the palm.

"There, now I'll be able to impersonate you even better," Ryuzaki says.

"How did you—thank you," Light breathes, looking back up to his companion. "Really."

Ryuzaki's eyebrows rise for a moment, and he scratches his thick head of black hair. "Y-you're welcome." He clears his throat. "Anyway, back to the plan…Kinddara's Death Note."

Light takes a moment to compose himself as well. "Right, I don't think she's dumb enough to leave her Death Note lying around in the open."

A crooked smile crawls up the pale man's face. "When I think really hard, I like to play a game. I assume the role of my enemy. I imagine being in their shoes, walking their steps, speaking in their voice. I try to envision their life as mine." He leans in close. "Now imagine you're Kinddara, Yagami-kun. Where would be the one place you could always keep your Death Note hidden?"

It doesn't take long for Light to catch on. He mirrors Ryuzaki's expression. "My throne."


	15. Chapter 15

14\. CHALLENGER

* * *

A gathering of Shinigami for a celebratory banquet is tantamount to a graveyard of dancing corpses. At least that's what Light observes when he first enters the large dining room filled to the brim with monstrosities of all shapes and sizes. Several rows of tables, able to seat hundreds, stretch from the entrance and reach to the back of the room where a platform rests for someone special. The ceiling is decorated with what should be a chandelier but looks more like a great beast with a thousand candles for eyes. Light's never taken gods as the kind to bask over death. Death seems like more of a habituate ritual they participate in but never like to drink and be merry over. There's a strange ounce of humanity he finds in this room.

"There's our champion!" someone yells from across the way, thrusting a mug into the air. Light lifts his head to attain a better angle.

"Nexys?" He approaches the slug's table and finds Nym there as well. "What are you two doing here?"

"We came to the city to see if you and your companion had made it. We didn't expect to find you fighting in the Pits," Nexys says. "Shame what happened to your companion."

"Not really," Nym quips.

Nexys chuckles and tosses back a drink.

Light imagines if Ryuzaki were here he'd have choked the both of them for that insult alone.

"Shame about your arm as well," Nexys adds.

Before he had been escorted to the dining hall, Light had taken the liberty to hide his newly acquired limb within his long coat, letting the left sleeve loose and limp. Strangely, he has grown accustomed to its feel—like the limb has secretly always belonged to him. Ryuzaki, meanwhile, hid among the cell's shadows. Dawn has passed, and their cell has enough darkness to hide someone twice their size.

Light sits down on the end of the table. Nexys pours him a mug and slides the drink over to him. Light sips and wrinkles his nose at the bitterness. "Is this supposed to be wine?"

"No, it's beer," the slug answers. "Wine is for the nobles."

"And I suppose those are apples?" Light gestures to a bowl of prune-like fruit in the center of the table that some Shinigami take turns eating.

"Nope, oranges."

 _How disappointing_. But Light should consider himself relieved he doesn't suffer from hunger pains anymore, nor does he need to worry about such a human necessity. He continues sipping the irritable drink, playing along. "I never would have thought Shinigami would celebrate like this."

"We never have," Nym reveals. "This is all new to us, but strangely…it's fun."

Light leans forward, resting an elbow on the table and his chin in his palm. "Is it? I'm glad you seem to be enjoying yourselves."

They share banter for a time before the bustling in the room settles and then ceases into memory. Light shuts his mouth tight as a familiar figure enters the room, looming over everyone. All conversations end when Kinddara makes her appearance. Close behind her, several followers carry her throne. Light sits up but lowers his head as Kinddara passes his table.

The throne lowers at the far end of the room, on top of the platform. Kinddara takes her seat. With a motion of her skeletal hand, one follower pours her a glass of wine while another heads back through the room to Light's table.

"The queen would like to speak with you."

 _This is it_. Light stands, nodding his temporary goodbyes to Nexys and Nym, and follows the underling to greet Kinddara with a forced smile. "Good evening, Your Grace. You look positively…deadly this night. How may I be of service?"

Kinddara pauses, as if deciphering his smile. "Light Yagami, the champion of the Pits," she says his name and title beneath a mocking chortle. "The fool who calls himself Kira. The traitor who killed his companion." She stirs the wine in her glass. "Don't play dumb. You know why I've brought you forward." Kinddara turns her head to the rest of the room. "My fellow gods, I demand your attention."

Everyone looks up at her.

"Tonight, we celebrate another successful match in the Pits. Our winner entered the arena as an underdog. Someone not even I believed would last for very long. I don't admit this often, but, like many of you, I was taken by surprise when he turned his weakness into strength during the final round. And now he stands here as Light Yagami, your champion!"

Applause erupts for him, and Light gives a gracious bow. The loudest cheers come from his table, where Nexys and Nym sit. He has gained some recognition in the Shinigami world, and he feels Kami's eyes watching, pleased.

"But this shall not be the end for him," Kinddara continues, silencing the applause with a raised hand. "For tomorrow, he will step into the arena once again to grant you and I another bloody and satisfying fight."

The room rumbles with hooting and cheering and clapping. Light surveys his audience of gaunt, grotesque creatures and visualizes himself standing above his domain. He no long stands before an audience of Shinigami but an audience of humans—worshippers—who've traveled from all across the world to pledge their eternal loyalty to him. To commit themselves to the god of the new world. To Kira.

"Thank you, my queen," Light interjects. "I'm so glad to have entertained you and everyone in this room." He entwines his fingers and straightens his back. "That is why I don't intend on disappointing anyone tomorrow." He looks back at the queen, holding his gaze. "And neither will you."

Kinddara tilts her head.

Light returns his attention to everyone else as if he's addressing a conference. "As gods of death, you all have the luxury of immortality. Though, by the taste of your wine and fruit, I doubt most of that time is kept well sated. I assume that's why the pits exist. In the human world, we don't have the comfort of time. So we do what we can to make life worth living—the pursuit of happiness—as some would call it."

He notices a few Shinigami exchange glances and hears concerned whispering. But Light's face remains unchanged.

"And I firmly believe, as your champion, that the pursuit of happiness must be a cause to stand by." His gazes shifts back to the monster sitting in the throne. "Don't you agree, my queen?"

"What is this?" Kinddara snaps.

Light smirks. "This is a challenge. As champion of the Pits, I challenge you, the Queen of Blood, to a duel. If I win, I demand my Death Note back. If you win, you get to kill me."

A rumbling tension, like a tidal wave crashing against the shoreline, makes its way to the back of the room where it collides with the wall, practically breaking its architecture. The world freezes, becoming numb to the realization of Light's words. Not even Kinddara could have predicted this outcome. Light had promised them a show, and a show he shall give.

"Are you insulting me?" Kinddara's voice drops to lethal levels. "How dare you, you whelp. _Seize_ him!"

Two followers grab Light by either side and push him to the ground. Kinddara stands and dangles something in front of him. "If you hadn't blatantly disrespected me in front of my own people, you might have had this in your hands by tomorrow evening." She opens the Death Note's page to Light's name and a pen materializes in her hand. "Watch closely."

Kinddara digs the end of the pen down on the first character in Light's name and the pen bleeds across the writing. Light grits his teeth as a searing pain, like a knife slowly sinking into his chest, overwhelms him. But through the pain, he manages to squeeze out a few words. "Is that…a refusal?"

Kinddara lifts the pen from the page, ending his torment. Her jaws are so close, Light worries they might open and devour him, tearing the flesh from his face and spitting it out into the audience. She stands. "I accept your challenge. Drink well tonight, Light Yagami, for tomorrow your mouth with be as dry as the wastes in which I'll dump your bones." With a nod, her underlings half-drag Light off stage and throw him into the silent throng of partygoers.

Light calmly returns to his seat, sipping through the rest of his beer and turning to a stunned Nexys and Nym with a sidelong grin.

* * *

Ryuzaki crosses his single arm over his chest and cocks a brow. "You said _that_ dribble?"

"I wanted to create a sense of suspense. The best suspense will catch people off guard. Given everyone's reaction, I caught them off guard. That means I succeeded." Light places a celebratory pitcher of beer he received during the banquet down by the window.

"Or you could have simply said, 'I challenge you to a duel to the death, Kinddara.' Kept it short and mildly sweet."

Light rolls his eyes. "Still it worked. Now you need to focus on staying alive until I destroy her throne. Any ideas?"

"Look what I still have." Ryuzaki conjures something into his hands. He spins the scythe between his fingers. "I thought I lost it when we were captured, but apparently, with a little imagination, I can summon this when I please. I think I'll use this over the knife." The look on his face boosts Light's confidence.

"Or you could use the knife as a backup," Light suggests.

"Isn't that cheating, Yagami-kun?"

"There's no honor in the fighting pits," Light says. "It's do or die. Kinddara might have a few tricks up her sleeve, so be ready for anything."

Ryuzaki's hollow eyes stare at him and the scythe stops spinning, coming to a halt with a short clank against the cold floor beneath their feet. "You might be right. Ninety percent."

"Are you still on about that?"

"You should be relieved that the number's lowering," Ryuzaki says, flashing a smirk.

Light sighs, wondering if he shouldn't take the number so seriously. It's the least of his worries. He should be entirely focused on reaching Kinddara's throne tomorrow without being spotted.

A sting aches against the back of his shoulder. Light reaches up and presses a finger against the brand, massaging it. "Hey, Ryuzaki."

"What?"

"Don't die tomorrow."

The pale man's brows furrow, and he cocks his head to the side. "Is that supposed to be concern, Yagami-kun?"

"Just promise me, all right?" Light insists.

Ryuzaki purses his lips. "Very well."


	16. Chapter 16

15\. SURVIVAL

* * *

Morning creeps in like a slithering serpent through grass. The dismal world ironically comes alive with the sound of bells tolling, and Ryuzaki knows as well as Light that the time to act is drawing near.

A guard comes to collect Light. Ryuzaki stands waiting before the door, with his hood obscuring his face. The guard doesn't bother searching the premise or asking him to remove the hood. The guard's seen how Light's built, and nobody but Ryuzaki is built like him, and Ryuzaki is dead to everyone else. Had the guard asked him to remove his hood, Ryuzaki would've used a witty retort anyway. But he swallows it down as he follows the escort to the undercroft below the arena.

There he waits and listens to the rumbling of feet above the ceiling and dripping water somewhere in the darkness. Together the rumbling and dripping form a rhythm that almost sounds serene. As if the world is closing in on him and preparing him for the imminent fight ahead. The calm before the storm.

 _Did L fight his battles with violence_? Ryuzaki wonders. _Did he take what was his with a knife in his hand_? According to Light, no. But Ryuzaki can't shake the comparisons. They share the same face, the same voice, the same mannerisms, yet his mind is his own. At least, he believes. Can someone arise from the dead and still hold onto the person he once was? Or does death play a magical role? Does it slowly consume parts of the soul and dispense the rest and form a new being fogged by the memories of the person who came before?

Ryuzaki closes his eyes and massages his temples. This isn't the time or place to be worrying about such mindless dribble. He may very well die in a few short minutes. Though Light's selfish plea continues to bog his mind. It's as if they truly were friends at some point…

But no friend would put another friend in danger. No friend would risk killing the other friend to save his own ass. Light is not a friend.

And yet, what is the definition of friend? Someone you trust? You converse with regularly? You love? Can friendships last beyond death? Ryuzaki shakes the thought from his mind as the gate opens.

He steps out into the arena, feeling the sand between his toes. The hooting from the audience sharpens his senses. The aroma of blood and shit lingers in the air. He scrunches his toes, finding some distraction in the sand as he waits for his opponent.

The rival gates open, and Kinddara emerges from the black tunnel to a roaring crowd of onlookers. She's dress in bone armor that has been painted red to match her nickname. Her arms rise up, seemingly absorbing the energy from her audience to use for the impending fight. Ryuzaki pulls his hood over his face more as the Queen of Blood makes her way to the center of the arena. Her maw extends, grinning.

"So, here we are, Light Yagami." Kinddara leans forward. "You sounded so confident last night when you challenged me. And now you choose to obscure your face from view?"

Ryuzaki dips his chin. He bites back a retort and considers what Light would say in this situation. "With all do respect, Your Grace, if you have a right to wear that armor, I have a right to wear this hood."

The queen's jaw moves slightly, and a painful silence wedges between them for a few short seconds. "Very well. I thought you had pride, but I suppose if you're going to lose at least you'll be remembered as nothing more than the coward with a big mouth. I'll be sure to hang your corpse from my windowsill so that everyone will know never to test me."

Ryuzaki holds back a smirk. A part of him wants to reveal himself but not only would that cause mass hysteria, he would also put Light at risk of failure. Light promised to inform him when he had found Kinddara's throne and had some way of destroying it. Light hadn't given him the full details, so Ryuzaki can only assume that's because the other man doesn't trust him enough and not because he doesn't have a plan.

"May we give them a good fight, my queen," he says.

The sound of a gong thunders through the amphitheater, symbolizing the beginning of the match.

Ryuzaki reaches for the knife tucked away in his sleeve. He has an ounce of a second before a massive weight slams into him and knocks him into the ground.

* * *

The lock won't open. It's Light's third attempt, and the makeshift lockpick he had designed fails to work.

By the third try, the lockpick breaks.

"Fuck," he hisses under his breath. Had he taken some time in his past life to learn about lockpicking instead of reading about it at a passing glance, this may have worked in his favor.

 _Plan B_.

He picks up the celebratory pitcher of beer and heads for the window. A bar separates anyone from squeezing through, but beer can be as slippery as water, and Light has always been thin in proportion to his height. He strips off his long coat and stands naked.

He dumps the beer over his head and shudders at its cold touch. The alcohol does its duty, somewhat, but Light can see there are still problem areas—dry places he needs to attend to if he wishes to escape. Using what remains of the lockpick, he cuts along his right forearm, letting the blood flow and drip to the floor.

Blood has never been something Light enjoys seeing. In the past, he remembers practically drowning in it when Matsuda shot him in a blind rage. The bullets felt like a flurry of knives jabbing him again and again. The smell of gunpowder and metal polluted his senses, and turned his mind into a fog. And as the blood poured from his wounds, pain wrapped around him and the realization that death would come sunk in.

But this time is different. No matter how much his arm stings or how much blood drips to the floor, Light's mind doesn't stray from the objective. He smears fresh blood along any dry areas on his body, coating parts of himself in a thin blanket of red. When it seems like enough has been used, he collects his clothes from the floor and makes his way to the window, sliding one leg through the gap between the wall and the bar. He slips his other leg through next, which needs more prying than the first around his thigh. But both successfully wedge through the barrier, and the rest of Light's sleeked body goes with it. He hangs off the side of the tower, evening his breath as he begins to climb, searching for any small niche or protruding stone to use as leverage. When he can't find one, he thrusts the lockpick piece into the mortar. Never, for any reason, do his eyes wander down. Even if the fall doesn't kill him, he'd rather save himself both the pain and the disappointment.

Light has rock climbed before but not without the proper equipment. He had done it in his youth with his father—one of the few memories he holds dear of Soichiro Yagami. As a birthday gift, his father took him away from the city and into the woods, far from anyone. It seemed as if the civilized world they knew had dissolved, and the two of them remained left as the earth's last survivors. His father taught him how to build a tent and a fire, fish, and even shoot a gun. Though Light was always wary of firearms, even at a young age.

"Light," his father said with a warm smile, "there's nothing to fear. You should respect the gun's power, not be scared of it."

Light stood back, staring at the weapon in his father's hand. His scrawny legs trembled. "B-but Mom said you shouldn't teach me about guns until I'm older."

"That's true. But what if something happened to me? Law enforcement isn't a safe environment. Every day I work, I wonder if I'll be able to make it home to your mother's cooking and to you and Sayu." He places his unarmed hand down on Light's shoulder. "You'd be the man of the house. You'd be our family's protector. Their shield. You wouldn't want anything to happen to your mother and sister, would you?"

Light shook his head vehemently.

"I'm only saying this because I don't want you to have to go through what I go through. I want you to find something you're passionate about and that's safe. This right here." He lifts the gun in his hand. "This is the last thing I want you to ever put between your fingers. But if you do, I want to make sure that you know how to use it properly. Does that make sense?"

"Yes sir."

He patted his son's head and offered the gun to him.

Light accepted it in shaking hands.

"Here." His father gingerly took Light's hands in his to steady the weapon. "Take a deep breath."

Light obeyed.

"Now squeeze the trigger as you exhale."

His father helped him. The bang made his body jump. The impact ricocheted through his arms and chest. Across the way, a tree truck had acquired a small hole.

"Good, Light," he father said. "Now this next one is yours alone."

His hands released his son's, and Light already yearned for their return. He felt incompetent without his father's support. The gun grew heavier the longer he hesitated. His nerves built strength. He didn't want to shoot, but he also didn't want to be a disappointment.

"Remember to breathe," his father reassured.

Light inhaled until his chest became tight from some much oxygen and his lungs pressed against his ribcage. His pointer and middle fingers slid over the trigger. He relaxed his shoulders and exhaled all the tension as his fingers squeezed the trigger.

Light shook his hands and an aching sensation encompassed his wrists as he searched for where the bullet had landed. He couldn't find an extra hole in the tree his father had helped him shoot at.

"It's all right," his father said. "It'll get easier."

Light ran his hand across the gun. "Dad," he said, steadying his voice. "Have you ever shot someone?"

His father's expression hardened for a brief moment. Enough to help answer Light's question.

"Have you ever…killed anyone?"

His father kneeled down again. "Let's not think about that today." He pulled the weapon out of his son's tiny hands and placed it back into its holder. "Come on, let's go fishing."

They left the shooting ground behind. That would be the first and last time Light had ever shot a firearm.

Light reaches the highest window and breathes a sigh of relief. The alcohol and blood smeared across his body have grown sticky and hard. Light imagines falling into a warm bath and cleansing himself.

He hoists himself up and through the window. Unlike his window, Kinddara's has no bars or other barriers. Why would she? The Queen of Blood has no need to live in fear. When he comes to standing, Light shrugs his attire over his shoulders and buttons it.

Immediately, he sees the throne isn't here.

He clicks his tongue and searches the room for his Death Note but finds nothing.

A knock comes at the door.

Light tenses, prepared to face any contingency.

The door creaks open.

* * *

Ryuzaki barely blocks the first blow with his conjured scythe, abandoning the knife all together. His back hits the dirt and sinks into the granite. Kinddara has him pinned down. Her entire weight looms over him.

Miraculously, his hood stays on, obscuring his identity. Light had given him an estimation of how long it would take to find her throne. But Ryuzaki hadn't expected to be pinned so early.

Kinddara had pushed him down with the help of a great axe in her hand. Her bone armor glimmers and seems to move like shadows around her skeletal being, adding on to her already fearsome appearance.

"What's this?" she says. "You pulled out a trump card on me?" She leans more weight on him, and the axe's blade begins to sink into Ryuzaki's right shoulder, drawing blood.

He struggles underneath her, gritting his teeth. With his single arm and upper body subdued by her, Ryuzaki can think of only one alternative…

He swings his lower body slightly to the side to gain momentum and kicks Kinddara in her maw. Bones crack beneath the sole of his foot, and he knows it was a powerful counterstrike.

True enough. The kick is all he needs to wiggle out from under her and revert to standing.

Kinddara snaps her jaw back into place. A few fangs are missing. "Impressive. I didn't take you for a fighter, Light Yagami. But you must've been holding back before." She stands up and rolls her shoulders back. "Good. You have my full attention now."

The kick may have granted him freedom, but it doesn't seem to have helped him in the battle. Ryuzaki takes a step back, creating space between himself and the queen. He doesn't need to kill her. He just needs to survive. If only he somehow knew where Light was currently. His grip tightens around the scythe's hilt. The thrill of fighting wavers inside him. His body starts to shake. Why, though? He's died before. He knows what death brings. He'll regenerate shortly. But why is his body betraying him?

No, it's not Kinddara who's making him feel this way.

Meanwhile, the queen readies herself, and her armor seems to grow in size. Black shadows accompany her, standing taller that Kinddara herself. Their forms wave to Ryuzaki, and he realizes they are a pair of flapping wings. Kinddara stalks toward him.

The hooting voices from the audience fade.

The arena goes dark.

There's nobody else but him and Kinddara.

 _Don't die tomorrow_ , that selfish voice echoes.

If there's any courage left in him, it departs. Somewhere, beyond his field of vision, the bells toll and someone laughs.


	17. Chapter 17

16\. INFERNO

* * *

Nexys comes through the door. He pauses as his eyes scan Light's drenched form.

Light greets the slug-like Shinigami with a short smile and nod. "Did you find it?"

"Yes, she's left it guarded in the dungeons," Nexys says, signaling with his hand. "We'd best move swiftly, sir."

But Light puts up a finger and strolls over to the table. He plucks the pitcher from the table and checks its contents. There's still plenty of wine left from yesterday. Light's smile extends as his fingers caress the pitcher's base. Kinddara hadn't been smart enough to leave it somewhere hidden. Though why would she hide it? She couldn't assume anyone would have the gall to break into her private quarters. Light had anticipated this.

Light follows Nexys down the spiraling flight of stairs. "What about Nym? Any updates?"

"Still looking, sir."

As long as he reaches her throne first, Light should be able to find his Death Note. So far, everything's going just as planned.

He had taken a brief moment in between challenging Kinddara and leaving for his quarters to speak to Nexys and Nym in private. Light had cajoled quite a bit to bring them over to his side:

"Kinddara has a list," he whispered when everyone around them in the ballroom had gone back to their conversations. "I saw it when she brought me to her quarters."

"A list saying what?" Nexys asked, chewing on a shriveled orange.

"Of potential people she intends to kidnap and imprison to use for the fighting pits." Light leaned in. "Your names were on it."

Nexys and Nym chortled together.

"Prove it," Nym said.

"You calling me a liar?" Of course he was lying, but Light had a natural way of blocking out any suspicion with just a change of voice and expression. Serial liars never admit they're wrong.

Nexys played with his golden jewelry. "Who else is on the list?"

"Enough to entertain Kinddara for at least a week," Light said. "She may have made me her champion, but I won't be the last. Once I'm gone, they'll be a new champion, and then another, and then another until there are no Shinigami left to fight for her. You two won't be safe for long. This may very well be the last meal for the three of us."

"How do we know you're not saying this to save yourself?" Nexys glared with his beady eyes.

Light leaned back in his seat and surveyed the room for someone. When he locked eyes with the creature, he turned his head and lifted his cup to his chin to mask his voice. "You see that Shinigami standing over by the door?"

He watched both of them look toward the doorway, and their heads nodded.

"He's a slaver," Light revealed. "He took me and Ryuzaki here while we were searching for the city. He's scouting for you guys."

Nexys ducked his head. "Are you fucking serious?"

Nym did the same.

Light reassured them with a gesture of the hand. "Relax. As long as you two do what I say, all three of us will get out of here unscathed. Do you trust me?" He gave them a look of encouragement.

The Shinigami exchanged glances.

"I guess so," Nexys said.

Nym nodded.

Light forced a greedy smile from taking over his face. "Good. Now listen closely…"

Light and Nexys reach the bottom floor without delay. Everyone who is anyone is watching the fight. Those who aren't are guarding the queen's throne in the dungeon. Light holds the pitcher close to his chest as he peeks around a corner and notices two guards standing before a door.

"It's in there," Nexys confirms. "What do we do?"

Light searches the vicinity with his eyes for anything that can be used as a potential distraction. When he finds nothing, he says, "Improvise." He buttons up his long coat and straightens his collar to obscure part of his face. "Come on."

They step out of the shadows. The two guards stand up in attention. One with reptilian-like features barks, "Halt. Who are you?"

"My good sir, we are here by request of the Queen of Blood to showcase our brilliant new wine," Light says, smiling with his eyes and lifting the pitcher into the air like he's a salesman on the street.

"Piss off, the queen's busy."

"But we have traveled so far to see her," Light insists. "We were told that if we didn't leave it somewhere safe, the queen would be very disappointed."

"What the fuck are you two supposed to be anyway?" the other guard asks, fiddling with his cadaver fingers. "Street performers?"

"Oh, that is an excellent assumption. We were sent here not only to present the queen this rare wine as a gift, but also for her to welcome us into her services. You see, the queen sent a notice to the Shinigami king asking for additional entertainment besides the fighting pits. She requested this as soon as possible, and here we are. We were instructed by the king not to leave until we could be sure that Kinddara has been given word of our arrival."

The guards exchange looks, and Nexys swallows hard in Light's peripheral vision.

"Did you hear anything about this?" the reptilian guard asks.

"No," the skeletal one replies. "But shit. If we turn them away, we might get the axe. Figures we wouldn't hear. The bitch doesn't pay us enough anyway."

"She doesn't pay us at all, you idiot." The reptilian guard turns back to Light and gestures with his head. "Fine, you can leave the wine in the back room. I'll escort you both to a holding cell until Kinddara's available." He opens the door and heads inside first.

Light follows. The room is dimly lit with a couple of torches. The throne has been left among a pile of gold treasure, a bookshelf of Death Notes, perhaps belonging to servants, and a sea of skulls ranging in size and shape. Some appear almost human—her trophies.

Light's stomach churns at the macabre display, but his mind remains firmly on his objective. "Where may I put this?"

"Over by the throne," the guard says. "But don't touch anything."

Light makes the slightest gesture to Nexys and then strolls through the sea of trophies and beyond the bookshelf of Death Notes toward the throne. But as he begins ascending the steps, his foot catches on the stone, and his entire weight comes crashing down. The pitcher slips from his fingers and shatters. Wine sprinkles across the queen's throne.

* * *

Ryuzaki can barely keep his head afloat within the flurry of attacks. When he blocks one attack, another comes swiftly afterward and cuts through a part of his cloak, grazing his skin. The pain lingers for a few seconds until a new pain arises somewhere else on his body. Earlier, pain didn't have any affect of him. In fact, he barely felt anything when Light sunk a knife in his back and reduced him to a pile of meat on the ground. But something seems off. With each blow of Kinddara's axe or wings, he grows weaker, more timid. An overwhelming fear of vulnerability sweeps over him. If he does die, will he return? Will he be able to keep fighting for as long as Light needs him? Would L have backed down by now?

 _L_ …

Suddenly, as if he has been dropped into limbo, Ryuzaki finds himself no longer standing in an arena. The dirt and sand has been supplanted by green grass and the smell of honeysuckle. It's a familiar atmosphere.

And then comes screaming.

The scent of honeysuckle in the air vanishes as wisps of orange and yellow flames engulf the grass, crinkling it until there's nothing but charred remains. The screaming rises with the fire's fury.

Hands lift to eye level, soaked in sticky blood. He claps them around his ears in a desperate attempt to cover the screams from sliding inside his head and polluting his mind. His knees buckle, and he drifts to the ground. The fire seems to draw closer, while the screaming grows more profound, as if it's become a part of the wind. His eyes shut. Smoke fills his lungs. He senses it: right here, in this very spot, he prepares to die.

And then something pulls him out of the inferno. His lungs breathe in fresh oxygen instead of smoke. His mind swims like it's been at sea for days, riding the waves of disorientation until he finally reaches shore.

A voice both rich and firm says to him, "Didn't you say you wanted to be a hero? You give up. You fail. No hero gives up. Not even in death. Are you a failure, boy?"

The question sinks into him like a tattoo to skin. It comes from a familiar voice, whose origin he can't quite grasp. He reaches out, blindly seeking its source, and his fingers graze wrinkles.

"Are you?" the voice insists.

He shakes his head.

"Then get up. Heroes never back down. You may lose a battle or two, but you're still fighting a war."

Ryuzaki snaps back into reality as Kinddara's axe comes down upon him. He barely manages to block the blow, but it knocks the wind out of him, and the hood from his head.

He stumbles back as a wave of gasps encompass the audience.

Kinddara's mouth drops. "You," she hisses. "You're supposed to be dead."

Ryuzaki recovers, wiping his forehead of bangs with the heel of his remaining hand and leaning on his scythe for support. "I got better."

"If you're here, then…"

* * *

"You idiot!" The reptilian guard kicks Light to the side, and his back hits the wall. "Kinddara will return, and this'll be on _your_ head."

Light shifts until he's sitting on his knees and bows apologetically to the guard. "I'm _so_ sorry. I tripped on the stairs."

The guard grumbles, grabs him by the neck and tosses him toward the opposite wall. "But I think I'll soften you up first. I'll make sure to tell the queen that Rafael has personally rid her of this pest." He cracks his knuckles.

The impact knocks the wind out of Light. When he recovers, he's sitting below a blue-lit torch. The guard stalks toward him but stops when Light raises a hand. "I do have one question, Rafael. Has Kinddara taken your Death Note?"

"What?"

Light stands. "Has she?" He nods to the bookshelf.

"Why the fuck do you care?"

"Don't you? After all, it's yours to take." Light crosses his arms behind him and straightens his back. He feels Ryuzaki's hand stroke his own, as if it knows his plan. "Let me guess, Kinddara's kept control over you this entire time because if you do anything to offend or displease her, your notebook will suffer and thus you will, too. Now that she's distracted, this is the first chance you've had to take it back since she's stolen it."

Rafael's brow furrows. "What is this?"

Light takes the torch out of its holder and nods to Nexys. "I'm not Kinddara. I'm willing to give you a choice, Rafael. You can either walk out of here peacefully with your Death Note in hand or you can try to kill me and die."

Nexys scurries over to his side with Rafael's Death Note in hand. Light takes the notebook from the Shinigami and hovers the torch's flames right above its pages. "Now, which will you choose?"

After a few tense moments, the guard lowers his fists and relaxes his shoulders. "Give me my Death Note."

Light hands it to him. "Good choice." He nods to the other guard, who's watching from the doorway. "And you?"

The skeletal guard nods vehemently. "I'm Hans." He extends a hand, and with a nod from Light, Nexys hands him his Death Note as well after locating it in the bookshelf.

Light approaches the throne with the torch's flame rippling and cracking.

"Who the fuck are you?" Rafael asks.

Light turns and flashes a subtle smile. "I am Kira." He tosses the torch onto the throne, and the seat bursts into a wall of fire.

Orange and yellow flames encompass Kinddara's most prized possession. As Light watches what remains of the queen's lifeline, he imagines Kinddara's form crumbling into a thousand pieces and those pieces morphing into dust that the wind picks up and devours. The smile on his face grows as the fire consumes the last few parts of the queen's treasure.

* * *

Elsewhere, Ryuzaki watches in a mixture of horror and awe as the Queen of Blood's wings snap off, her armor breaks in half, and her fearsome being becomes nothing more than a pile of ash and bones on the arena floor. All that is left of the Queen of Blood are her wings that flutter in the wind before resting on top of the mound of ash and bones. They glow with some kind of otherworldly power that draws Ryuzaki toward them.

But he hesitates when the audience stands. Everyone's eyes watch him for a moment and then wander off into the distance. Ryuzaki follows the many eyes to the tower, where a thick smoke releases between the stones and rises into the gray sky as a black cloud. The world's attention seems to tilt sideways without his full knowledge of why.

Then, as soon as he questions whether he's witnessing reality or another hallucinating, a figure walks out from the tower and appears at the top of the stands like a ghost haunting overhead. As the smoke thickens, streams of fire come into view around the figure, revealing his face.

And half of the audience welcomes the birth of their new King of Blood, Light Yagami.


	18. Chapter 18

17\. RULER

* * *

It has been a few hours since Kinddara's death, and the amphitheater's podium seems to be the perfect place to make an announcement. In that time, Ryuzaki had taken her wings as his own.

While he tests his new appendages, Light stands at the edge of the podium with his fingers entwined together and his back straight. Next to his stands Nexys with a large pile of Death Notes. Below him stand those ready to reclaim their Death Notes. But Light isn't so willing to give back what is most precious to a god of death. He is no Kinddara, nor does he wish to be. But he is no pushover either. These people didn't serve a pushover. They served a mistress of the fighting pits, and while Light would certainly have shut down these pits if he had full control of the Shinigami world, a familiar warning plays in his head:

 _Kami is watching you._

Light's eyes close and then reopen. "My fellow Shinigami, I am not here to enslave you. I don't agree with Kinddara's methods of holding you against your will so that you may serve her under fear. But as your new King of Blood, I offer you a choice: accept me as your ruler and your Death Note will be returned to your hands. This I promise you. Reject this offer and die."

The words come out faster and more matter-of-factly than Ryuzaki had anticipated. He stares at his companion, his wings folding against his back. If this man is more of a monster than he is, then why would anyone serve him willingly?

Yet as his eyes scan the faces of those who stand below, a sense of fealty sweeps the arena. Many Shinigami bend the knee to their new master, while a handful of them hesitate.

"Those who are still standing, please step forward."

A few gods come forward as instructed and stand in a single-file line before Light as if they are military men in the army. Each range in appearance and height, but they all share one commonality—they don't trust Light enough to place their lives or services into his hands.

Threats of dying cannot tame all gods of death. Most do indeed fear its uncertainty, much like humans would, but a given few may have come to terms with it long before Light had been resurrected.

Light fixates on the Shinigami standing farthest to his right. "State your name."

"Gias," the Shinigami with a hunchback, one amber eye, and bandages across its body and face answers.

"Gias," Light muses. The name rolls off his tongue smoothly. "What purpose did you serve Kinddara?"

"I was one of her advisors," Gias says, his voice low and calm. "I would suggest to her the best fighters, the best kinds of fights, even who she should bet on." His amber eye shot to Ryuzaki. "I'm usually correct in my assumptions, but this is the first time my calculations were...misread."

"Did you think fondly of her?"

Gias nods. "Yes, we regarded each other as friends soon after my brother died. When I heard of her place as the overseer of the fighting pits, I came to her willingly."

Light's raises a brow. "You had a brother?"

"Yes, he died some time ago. Not in the strange way we do now, but from a different curse brought on by the Death Note. From what I had been told, he watched over a human from the other world. He grew attached to this human despite not having any formal contact. One day, the human was supposed to die, but my brother couldn't stand the thought so he impulsively wrote the killer's name into his Death Note and…" He dips his head. "I was grief-stricken after that. Kinddara was one of the few to show support. And the only one to give me purpose. It is she I have sworn my loyalty to, even in death. That is why I cannot serve a foreign ruler such as yourself."

Light listens to the story and contemplates where he's heard it before. He shakes off the thought and then nods. "I understand." With a slight gesture of his head, Nexys digs through the pile of Death Notes to find Gias'. He hands the notebook to Light and ignites a pot with blue flame.

Ryuzaki manages to control the wings enough to let them relax. He had listened to the story as well. The words from the voice in his hallucination somehow crawl back into him, as if finding some parallel. "Wait."

Light turns to him. "What is it?"

"Maybe you don't have to kill him."

"Isn't killing your new go-to?" Light quips. "I thought you'd enjoy seeing this, Ryuzaki." A wicked smile crosses over his face. "It might give you some idea of how to kill me in the future."

Ryuzaki doesn't find Light's comment amusing in the slightest. Something inside him, whether it's the vision he encountered during his fight, or his own morality growing in strength, is telling him this is not the way. "You don't want to be Kinddara, do you? Maybe if you put him away for a while and let him see what you do, he'll change his mind. Do this, and you're just going to be the same impulsive bastard you were in your past life."

The new king doesn't seem convinced. "I understand your concern, Ryuzaki. But I cannot accept anyone loyal to my enemies into the new world I intend on creating." His attention returns to the notebook and to Gias. "Gias, as a servant of Kinddara Guivelostain, I, Light Yagami, king of the fighting pits, sentence you to death." He hovers the notebook above the blue flame. "Do you have any parting words?"

"Just this, I pray the new world you create sees through your deception. No true god should ever feel the need to lie. I hope you realize this before your worshipers betray you," Gias says with such profoundness that the words hit Ryuzaki almost as vividly as the vision of fire.

Light's mouth flinches involuntarily, and the Death Note slips from his fingers. The pages fly open within the flames and shrivel away. Gias drops to his knees and his body catches fire. The bandages wrapped around his face dissolve into charred black just like the pages of his Death Note. His flesh melts into the dirt and sand, leaving only his amber eye left in the bloody puddle. It sinks, never resurfacing. During all of this, Gias doesn't scream in agony or even whimper. Ryuzaki surmises the Shinigami knew the moment he had heard of Kinddara's defeat and usurping that he'd follow closely behind his mistress.

As the remains of Gias sizzle and bubble on the ground, Light turns to the rest of those most loyal to Kinddara and says, "Are you all willing to suffer the same fate for your dead ruler as he had?"

A small amount show fealty to him while the rest remain standing, and Light continues his executions as planned.

...

After the trials, Ryuzaki follows his companion to a secluded spot somewhere on the outskirts of the amphitheater where nobody else would disrupt them, except perhaps Nexys.

"Nym has returned, my lord," he informs.

"Good," Light says. "Bring him to me."

The other Shinigami comes around a corner, and Light's eagerness dissolves instantly upon seeing Nym empty-handed.

"Where is it?" he asks before the Shinigami has a chance to speak.

"Gone."

"Gone where?"

Nym scratches his bones.

" _Where_?" Light presses.

"I'm not sure, sire."

Light's face contorts into a scowl. "I told you not to return to me until you had it in your hands or at least some inkling of where it might be. Perhaps I'll keep your Death Note hostage in the mean—" He's cut off by a hand on his shoulder. Ryuzaki gives him a look, and Light reiterates in a calmer tone, "Quid pro quo, Nym. I won't return you your Death Note until mine is in my hands. That was our deal."

"Y-yes," Nym's voice trembles. "But I know someone who would know where to look for it."

"Who?" He anticipates Kami's name.

"Amonia Justin Beyondormason."

"Sounds like quite a woman," Ryuzaki quips, pressing his finger to his lip in thought.

"Amonia is male," Nym corrects to Ryuzaki's surprise.

"Who is he?" Light asks.

"He's the Shinigami King's second in command, sire. He knows almost everything that the king knows."

Just when Light had come down from his high after defeating Kinddara, one of the most fearsome Shinigami in all of this world, he has yet another obstacle in his wake. It would seem Kami has no intension of allowing him a reprieve. "Where can we find him?"

"He sometimes ventures into the city to gamble and drink during evening hours," Nym explains. "Tonight, you might find him at one of the newer attractions—the club."

Light stifles a laugh. "Now the Shinigami world has clubs? How inviting. Don't you agree, Ryuzaki?"

The pale man shrugs. "Never been to one." His finger presses his lip harder. "Or have I?"

"Not to my knowledge. No." L rarely left the confines of his room, and when he did, it was almost always to pursue Light. Any delay by going to a club or the red-light district didn't fit together with the introverted detective. On the other hand, Light has wondered what L's reaction to the thumping music and scorching body heat would look like. Mortifying, he assumes. Ryuzaki is the closest he'll ever get to knowing. A cheeky smile crawls up Light's face. "But perhaps this can be your first experience, Ryuzaki."

"And why would I have any interest in a club?" Not that he knows exactly what a club entails. He had been born with the knowledge that Light is Kira and Light once worked with a man named L. That's as close to humanity he's reached. Anything else sounds foreign.

"Call it a gift for helping me defeat Kinddara. I wouldn't have been able to if not for your diversion. Clubs are places where people congregate and share banter. This could be a chance for you to learn more about your past self." He waves a hand. "If not, take it as a temporary leave from work. On me."

Ryuzaki cocks a brow and chews on his thumbnail until he tastes blood. "But what if I hate it?"

"Then we'll leave, and I still owe you my life."

After some thought, the pale man nods. "All right."

Light returns his attention onto Nym. "Thank you for the information. In the meantime, I'd like you send a message to someone."

"Yes, sire. Who?"

His smile dissolves. "The Shinigami King."


	19. Chapter 19

18\. DANCE

* * *

The sounds of faint screaming seem to lurk in every niche Ryuzaki passes as he and Light descend farther into the heart of the city. Sometimes he assumes his mind is playing tricks on him, trying to scare or provoke him in some way. The screams' timbres are high in pitch, meaning they could belong to women or children. It's the most unpleasant sound he's ever heard despite everything that's happened to him.

Meanwhile, Light seems unfazed by the cries of torture. His focus is on the Shinigami named Amonia. To think, if he had done something slightly different in his approach when handling Kinddara, his Death Note would be safely back in his possession. But either Kami or some irrevocable force keeps the notebook a step or two out of reach, and all Light can do is give chase and hope the Death Note doesn't fall in a flaming pit during the pursuit.

The surrounding buildings around the duo seem to watch them closely, as if Kami has implanted his eyes within their looming shadows. Beneath the screaming, Ryuzaki hears the thumping sounds Light spoke lowly of. They draw closer to their destination.

"Sounds like a million beating hearts," the pale man muses.

"You have no idea."

They approach a large stone structure that seems to stretch into the gray sky. A double set of doors sits in their way. Light turns the doorknob shaped like a skull and steps into a world of dancing, chortling monsters and luminescence that seems to come out of the ground. The floor and ceiling are made entire out of mirrors, and his reflections glance back at him with both curiosity and slight disgust. It has been some time since he's seen himself. He's the same person he was as a human, at least physically. Though the dullness in his eyes reflects his loss of humanity. The primitive glow in his irises frightens him. He almost thinks a beast's looking at him.

Meanwhile, Ryuzaki is mesmerized by other distractions. Bones rattle together and feet stomp the floor as partygoers weave in motion with each other and the bizarre live music. Monsters give off the appearance of humans. Reflecting the erotic and electrifying presence that clubs are meant to promote. But as he observes, he comes to realize that death gods do not make the best dancers. Some collide together as if under the influence, while others twirl for far too long and lose their balance. While quite a disappointing scene it's still entertaining to watch. Despite the flaws, partygoers never cease moving. There's a continuous cycle of clumsy falls and twirls and rattling. Not that he is an expert in the sport, but Ryuzaki believes dancing is most enjoyable when paired with someone. He neither knows how to follow a musical rhythm nor has a partner willing to teach him. His eyes flicker to Light for the briefest moment.

"That must be him," Light nods to someone across the room.

Ryuzaki follows his gaze. A skeletal Shinigami, glimmering with a large sum of jewels, sits with his skull resting on one fisted hand and ruby eyes watching the partygoers with little interest.

Light and Ryuzaki shoulder through the throng to reach him.

"Amonia Justin Beyondormason?"

The skull raises its head. "Yes?"

"I'm Light Yagami, I was told by my retainer, Nym, that you might know where my Death Note is located."

"Light Yagami," his voice muses. "Aren't you the one who took over the fighting pits from Kinddara?"

Light nods.

"Really?" Amonia taps his finger against a golden tooth. "This is the first time I've heard someone has gotten the best of Kinddara Guivelostain. May I ask how you accomplished such a feat?"

Light and Ryuzaki exchange looks.

"We were able to recognize her weakness. The throne she carried around with her everywhere happened to be hiding her Death Note."

"And now you've taken her place as overseer of the fighting pits?" The skull nods. "Interesting. So you're here to find your Death Note? Should I be concerned that you may try to usurp me?" Amonia's voice grows steely. "I've heard about you, Light Yagami. Ryuk spoke quite fondly of you at his trial. You even managed to impress our king." He nods to to the partygoers. "It's because of you that they're acting this way. I'm starting to wonder if this change is poisonous to our way of life."

"You can rest assure that I have no intention of harming you or your status," Light says with a perfunctory smile. "All I ask is for information on my Death Note's whereabouts and I'll be on my way."

Someone jostles Ryuzaki, and the pale man turns to glare at the perpetrator, but he can't find the culprit in the thick crowd.

Amonia chuckles. "Perhaps there is something you can do for me in exchange for information."

Light groans but maintains his forced smile. "What do you have in mind?"

"You were brought back to life for our entertainment, Light Yagami. I'd like to see what sort of entertainment a fallen soul can bring to the world of gods. You caused mass hysteria and chaos in your human life. But what other entertainment do you possess besides murder?"

"I'm quite good at card games," Light says.

Amonia fiddles with the numerous jeweled-encrusted trinkets around his neck. "This is a club, Light Yagami. Surely there is something far more enticing that you can come up with than cards."

Light glances over his shoulder at the sea of moving bodies and exchanging of what could only be liquor. Clubs have never been a place he's frequented. Even in college, when his friends would try to drag him out to one, he'd only go to preserve the guise that he was an ordinary undergraduate student chasing the usual hedonistic desires every college boy wants—sex and alcohol. He'd never found either meaningful.

His eyes fall onto Ryuzaki, who's still trying to avoid being swept away by the partygoers. An insane thought crosses his mind.

"We could dance for you," Light offers.

Ryuzaki blinks. " _We_?"

Light shoots him a look, as if to say, "Just go with it."

All of a sudden, Amonia throws his head back and a guffaw bursts from his hollow mouth. When he finds some composure, he says, "Now I see why our king likes you so much. Very well. Show us your dancing prowess, Light Yagami."

"I don't dance," Ryuzaki says to nobody's listening ears.

Light grabs his arm regardless of his protests and drags him into the sea of weaving and drinking death gods. He finds a small opening within the throng and yanks on Ryuzaki's cloak. The pale man nearly falls into him. Their faces are so close, and their bodies are even closer.

"Seriously, Yagami-kun. Me. Dancing. No—"

"Just shut up and follow my lead."

"I'll kick you if you step on my feet," Ryuzaki mumbles, and the look in his eyes ensures he indeed will.

But Light is unprovoked by the threat. He should be grateful that it's just a kick he needs to worry about and not a beheading. He wraps an arm around the pale man's thin waist and feels Ryuzaki's lithe body tense beneath his fingertips. "Relax," he whispers. "It's just for show." With his other hand, he entwines their cold fingers together. Light rolls his shoulders back and stands tall.

The dance floor grows spacious as Shinigami take notice of the human shadows entangled together. Ryuzaki's gaze scans the room at the numerous pairs of eyes staring back at him. Tightness grows in his stomach until it's painful. A wave of fog fills his mind.

"Don't."

He jerks his head back to Light.

"Don't pay attention to anyone else but me," his companion says with tenderness in his tone. "I'll keep you afloat. Trust me." And the softness in his deep-set eyes forms a barrier against the pain in the pale man's chest.

Ryuzaki's body relaxes a bit in response. For some inexplicable reason, he trusts Light's words.

And slowly but surely, his partner bends a knee and steps back, pulling Ryuzaki along with him. Then Light bends another knee and steps to the side, and so forth, until he's formed a solid rhythm. Ryuzaki stumbles through the first few steps before they finally register in his mind. Light's expression remains reserved, frozen like a statue. Despite Ryuzaki's poor coordination, he doesn't seem bothered by his partner's inexperience.

Ryuzaki can't help but put his reputation into Light's cold but gentle hands. The taller man pulls him in more until their chests press together. Ryuzaki's eyes come to about Light's chin, but he maintains his gaze on his companion's. Should he stray from them, he fears another, more serious, slip up is imminent.

Their swirling world becomes a haze—twisting and morphing into a realm that is occupied by only Light and Ryuzaki. The two men may be an unorthodox pairing, but something inside Ryuzaki builds and builds until it shudders awake inside his chest. The space between them thins. Both partners seem to be waiting for the other one to recoil—a test to see who will back down first. But neither do. Pride is on the line. And all of a sudden, before either man even realizes it, the gap between them becomes nonexistent. The pounding music dies away into a repressed memory, and the smell of alcohol and sweat dissolves. Warmth extends to Ryuzaki's limbs, cloaking him in a protective blanket that also seems to reach Light.

But within this world that belongs only to them, a dark figure appears. It flies in with feathered wings the color of night and perches itself on a cliff. A pair of large, yellow orbs stare down at Ryuzaki. He stares back, challenging them. A Cheshire grin thickens across the being's face, and a loud cackle escapes its throat. It raises something into the air, and the pale man's eyes widen.

The Death Note slips from the being's grasp and falls down a deep void of mayhem. At first, it doesn't seem to end until the void brightens and large structures flood its canvas. The Death Note continues to drift downward until it disappears behind one of these large structures. Somehow, Ryuzaki recognizes this location.

He snaps back to reality and pushes Light away, brushing the back of his hand against his lips. Heat extends across his face. But the shock must wait. "I know where your Death Note is," he reveals.

Light has his hand over his mouth, also taking in the absentminded contact. He removes his hand to ask, "Where?"

"It's in the human world."

* * *

 **A/N:** So next chapter is officially the finale of Part I of ROFG. I will be making a special announcement regarding Part II afterward. Stay tuned!


	20. Chapter 20

19\. ABYSS

* * *

The walls of the Shinigami King's lair seem to move as if they're alive. Chains rattle somewhere unknown. Nym freezes at the entrance, unsure if he should proceed deeper into the cave.

"Nym," a booming voice nearly sends him fleeing. "What purpose do you have coming here?"

The lesser Shinigami shuffles in, his bones scrape against each other like chimes in the wind. It takes some time for him to recognize the colossal blob in front of him as his ruler and creator. So much time has gone by since he last came into direct contact with the king. The being sitting in front of him could pass for a stranger.

"I-I bring a message," he says.

"A message from whom?"

"Light Yagami."

The chains rattle again, and the ground rumbles like an earthquake. If not for Nym's predominantly short physique, he may have lost his balance. The Shinigami King's red eyes pierce through him with such intensity, he must look away before being devoured by their hunger.

"What is the message?"

Nym clears his throat. "He'd like to inform you that he's taken Kinddara's place as the new overseer of the fighting pits."

"Light Yagami," the voice echoes with fondness. "I've seen what's become of my pet. He's evolved from a dog into a wolf. And the wolf has quite a bite." The king circles his claw-like finger around idly. "It's time to up the stakes yet again." With a flick of his wrist, he summons someone to his side.

The Shinigami comes flying in with a strong flap of his black wings. Ryuk drifts to the ground near Nym with considerable care and ease. He cocks his head and says, "'Sup, Nym. Haven't seen you in a while."

"Not since your trial, Ryuk," Nym says, glancing from his fellow Shinigami back to their creator.

"Do you have it?" the king asks.

Ryuk nods to the king and raises something into the air. "One Death Note with Light Yagami's name, right here."

"I'd like you to take it to the human world."

Both the lesser Shinigami raise their heads in surprise.

"But I thought the human world was strictly forbidden ever since—" Nym cuts himself off with Ryuk standing there.

The king lifts his claw-like finger and moves it around in a circular motion. A vortex appears in the space between them showing a bird's eye view of the entrance to the human world reopening. "And now that decision has been revoked. Ryuk, take the Death Note with you and drop it where you please. Tell your former human that I have a special surprise for him to solve in a short timeframe." He sounds to be making this up on the spot. "Nym, you will return to your master and tell him that if he'd like his name erased from the Death Note then he needs to go to the human world and reclaim it for himself."

Ryuk cackles and gives a short wave. "Later." In a few small flaps, he's out of the cave and gone.

Nym bows respectfully to his creator and prepares to leave.

"On the other hand…"

He cranes his skeletal neck around to meet those frightening, red orbs.

"I think we'll add one more player into this game," the king says, amused. His claw-like appendage reaches into the vortex and swims around, searching for something hidden beneath. The red eyes glimmer. The god king seems to have found what he's looking for and pulls out a mass of what appears to be melting clay. He places the mass down in front of Nym.

The boney Shinigami falls back, unsure of what rests before him. His eyes return to the king's with question.

"It's not just Light's memories that I've encapsulated and drained knowledge from," the god king explains. "Why do you think I also reincarnated his rival?"

Nym remains paralyzed by the melting mass of clay. It starts to stir and contort into some prehensile corpse. Four limbs stretch out as the mass finds some structure by building a torso and perching a head onto a pair of shoulders. The clay melts off to reveal a naked human underneath its material.

"Because his rival had many more rivals, including one that could've succeeded him but chose a life of killing—similar to Light Yagami." The skull's mouth opens partly to form what could be a smirk. "What sort of entertainment shall we see if we add yet another character to the book?"

Nym shakes his head. "I…"

The humanoid abomination raises its head. His eyes fly open to reveal a pair of hellish orbs.

Nym has no chance to flee. The end comes anyway. And it's quick and filled with red.

...

"This is it," Ryuzaki says with certainty in his voice.

Light peers down into the black void and furrows his brow. "Are you sure? It doesn't look like anything more than a giant crater."

"I'm not a liar, Yagami-kun."

"That's not what I meant," Light says and sighs. "But how can we be sure that this'll take us to the human world?"

"That's where taking a leap of faith would fit perfectly," Ryuzaki quips to Light's chagrin.

"You have wings. Test them."

Ryuzaki conjures the extra appendages and flaps them to ease them out of their sleep-like state. He steps to the edge of the black void and stretches to one side and then to the other. Then he stretches his right leg and next his left.

"What are you doing?" Light asks, irritated. The movements look like nothing more than a distraction.

"Limbering up, of course. It's always important to do so before taking flight," Ryuzaki explains.

"How would you know that? You've never flown before."

"Ah, that's true," Ryuzai says, tapping his pointer finger to his chin and pursing his lips. "Well, it's still better to be safe than sorry. Isn't that right, Yagam-kun?"

Light rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. "Do whatever you please," he says in defeat.

"Thank you. See, we're getting along quite nicely now."

Both of them have done well to try and repress what happened in Amonia's club. The men have decided to call the event, "a moment of necessary stupidity." It was a way to impress the Shinigami King's right-hand while also going too far. They have also agreed to never speak of such a thing again.

All of a sudden, the dark void starts spinning like a blender. Ryuzaki steps away from the edge, and Light pulls him even farther away in case the ground below them somehow crumbles.

The void opens up to a swirling vortex of madness. Light's eyes ache from staring too long, and he rubs them to relieve the pain.

"Look, Yagami-kun."

Light forces his attention back on the vortex, but then follows Ryuzaki's eyes to a figure standing on the far end of the crater. His mouth drops and his eyes widen. "Ryuk?"

The humanoid Shinigami flaps his feathered wings and waves eagerly at his former human. "Light, is that really you?"

Ryuzaki cocks a brow. "You two know each other?"

A flurry of emotions rushes into him. "That's the Shinigami who dropped the Death Note I picked up into the human world," Light explains, tensing. "And the one who also wrote my name in it."

Ryuk's smile extends and a cackle like a hyena laughing escapes his throat, making both men shudder in response. "It's nice to see you again. How's it been since you've died?"

Light forces a smile and composes himself before his emotions betray him. He cannot afford to appear disturbed. "Good to see you as well, Ryuk. How long has it been since we last saw each other?"

Ryuk taps his chin. "Hmm, not since I wrote your name down while you were begging me to spare your life. You were quite pathetic actually." Another chortle. "It's funny how things have changed."

Light holds his smile, but the insult cuts deep. "Indeed, it was quite a misfortunate time for me."

"Yeah, because you lost to Near."

He tightens his jaw. "True."

"I told you that I'd be the one to write your name in the Death Note, and I did. But you've done well enough to impress the boss."

Light raises a brow. "You mean Kami?"

"Kami?"

"The Shinigami King."

Ryuk nods. "Ahh, is that what he calls himself? Interesting. I also hear that he's chosen you as his guinea pig. How's that going?" His fish eyes fall onto Ryuzaki. "Don't tell me you two are actually working together for real this time? Unless, of course you have another plan up your sleeve, Light."

Ryuzaki narrows his eyes and glances at Light. "Another plan?"

"Hasn't Light told you?" Ryuk says. "You must not remember that he masterminded L's demise for months. They were friends once—even got stuck together by handcuffs. But Light never diverted from his original plan. Light's selfish that way. Always wanted what was best for his world. Turning on a friend mattered little to him."

"I knew that," Ryuzaki says. "Light's untrustworthy, true. But he does keep things interesting."

Light blinks at his companion and feels tightness in his chest.

Ryuk raises his head. "Oh? Don't tell me you've forgiven him?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Ryuk." Light interjects before the conversation diverts too far from his current objective and onto unnecessary distractions. "Do you happen to know if this is the portal to the human world?"

"Sure is," Ryuk replies. "In fact, Gramps gave me a special job to do in the human world." He removes something hidden beneath his wing and lifts it into the air.

Light and Ryuzaki freeze upon seeing the Death Note between Ryuk's long fingers. He wedges one finger into the pages and reveals Light's full name to the two paralyzed men.

"It's been nice chatting with you, Light, but I gotta get moving. Gramps is a scary guy. Don't wanna piss him off." He flutters his wings. "Oh, before I go, there's one more thing I've gotta tell ya. Now that Kinddara's dead, Gramps has given you a limited amount of time to solve some big surprise."

"What surprise?" Light finally says after breaking himself out of his catatonic stasis.

Ryuk shrugs. "Beats me. I'm just the messenger." His wings flap again, sending a sharp gust of wind toward the men. "Later." He's prepares to drop into the circling vortex of madness when something comes flying at him. The Shinigami swiftly dodges out of the way of Ryuzaki's attack. "Wow, now. I'm not the fighting type. That looks pretty dangerous." He nods to the scythe in the pale man's hands. "Say, isn't that Deridovely's?"

"It was," Ryuzaki says, retrieving the weapon.

"Was?"

"He's dead."

Ryuk's grin extends. "Shame, he was fun to play cards with. Anyway, I can't hang with you two. Maybe we'll catch up in the human world." He cranes his neck around to look at Light. "Looking forward to seeing how you handle yourself this time, Light Yagami." His cackle is loud and mocking as he leaps off the ledge and plummets into the swirling vortex.

His laugh lingers in Light's mind.

Ryuzaki lands softly near Light. The scythe in his hand dematerializes. "He's…different."

"You have no idea."

"Light-kun."

He glances at the pale man, who's dark eyes look back with some hint of sympathy. "What?"

Ryuzaki's mouth parts to say something. He pauses and then shakes his head. "Sorry. Never mind."

"What is it? If it's urgent, I want to hear it."

Ryuzaki stares at the vortex. "I was wondering how long this partnership will last between us."

"Until my name is erased from the Death Note."

"And you think you'll be able to do that?"

"It'll be difficult, I'm sure. Defeating Kinddara was based on a profound amount of luck on both of our sides."

Ryuzaki's gaze returns to him. A sense of uncertainty washes over Light as their eyes meet. "Are you sure about that?"

Light presses his lips together. "Honestly, I'm not sure of anything anymore, but I'd like to believe I'll always have a chance. No matter how slim."

"Eighty percent."

"Ryuzaki…" Light sighs.

"Be glad it's—"

"We can't stand here dawdling on percentages." He steps to the edge of the cliff again. "Kami's seen the obedient side of me. I'll show him an entire new side, as will you. He wants us to cooperate, right?"

"Yeah."

"And the more we cooperate the more likely we are to win, right?"

Ryuzaki purses his lips. "That's correct."

"Then as long as we trust each other, to the extent two former rival can trust each other, we'll win his game."

Ryuzaki scratches his chin. "How soon do you think that'll be?"

"Soon," he says with pride. "I can feel it. Are you ready to take the dive?"

"Eighty-three percent."

Light rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

A soft chuckle releases from the pale man's throat. It's neither mocking nor ugly but strangely comforting. Warmth fills Light's tightening chest. He can't comprehend why such a small reaction would have such a profound impact on him. He has nearly forgotten what humor feels like.

Ryuzaki tugs him toward his body. Light nearly falls into his partner, and the pale man coils his single arm around Light's waist. Ryuzaki's wings flap and open wide.

Pushing his bemused thoughts aside, Light leans forward into the vortex and lets himself be taken by gravity's heavy pull.

* * *

 **A/N** : So this officially marks the end of Part I. Stay tuned for the Part II announcement this weekend!


	21. Chapter 21

20\. REVENANT

* * *

Near has never been fond of chocolate, but, when he does have a moment of weakness, it always falls on the anniversary of Mello's death. Ideally, he'd like to forget about the past and focus his energy and time on future obstacles. But something always crawls back into him on days like today where he finds himself in the midst of many card towers and reading _The Boy with No Name_ by Anonymous, despite knowing the story by heart. It's quite possibly the only time off he values and commits to.

He bites into the candy and lets it melt on his tongue. His taste buds neither melt with it nor repel the tang. They remain indifferent, as does Near. He forces the calorie-filled product down his throat, and it sits in his stomach, bubbling into a messy pile of brown. While it dissolves, Near contemplates that this is not only for Mello's memory but, by extension, L's as well. Justice and vengeance meld together in one last-ditch effort to repel any evil thought that seeps into the young man's mind.

And there are many.

It should not be in the nature of the world's greatest protector to want to kill. But a looming factor lingers in a nearby drawer in his room.

Near lifts himself from a splayed out position on the floor, placing the book down. He weaves through the towers of cards, shuffles to a drawer, opens it, and rifles his hand around for a slip of torn paper.

The piece looks old and brown as if it has been subjected to the elements. To an outsider it would be dispensable. But Near is one of the few people in the entire world who knows this is no simple piece of paper.

The hunger begins to manifest. It draws him in. He's done well to resist its alluring call. But, like chocolate, there are days where his willpower wavers beyond his comfort level.

His mind grows hazy.

Near pushes the piece back into the drawer and slams the drawer shut before he loses control. The hunger lingers for a few painful moments and then slowly evaporates. Near massages his temples before returning to his spot among the cards. He reaches for a stuffed toy he had left next to him on the ground. The toy had been specially crafted to resemble L—even possessing bags under its eyes. He squeezes its body and arms and twists them, practically ripping the fabric. This seems to be the only real way to help quell his hunger.

One of the monitors flicks on and a gothic W appears. "Near, can you hear me?"

"Yes," he replies, clearing his throat. "Go ahead, Watari."

But instead of an answer, the room contorts, and dark shadows loom overhead. Static interrupts their short conversation, and the W disappears. Near props himself up. Did all of the monitors just turn on by themselves? He tries to turn them back off, but the remote doesn't seem to work. No, this is not some unorthodox mistake. This is intended.

Beneath the static comes an inaudible voice.

He sits up, hiking his knees to his chest. His dark eyes narrow at the many gray screens. The static begins to irritate his ears. But the longer he stares into the screens, the more understandable the voice becomes.

Finally, the voice says, "Hello, Nate. It's been too long. Not since Wammy House, I believe?"

Near tenses but says nothing. He can't be entirely sure if he's hallucinating or if this is reality. Though he's leaning toward the latter.

The disembodied voice continues, "How's it been these past few years impersonating your idol?" The static sizzles with distortion.

Near feels a strip of sweat slide down the side of his face. He wipes it away with the heel of his hand as he contemplates whether to respond or wait until the voice has identified itself.

He chooses not to answer.

"I see how it is," the voice says, irritated. "You're wondering whether this is a dream or reality? I assure you that you're not dreaming. After all, your bed's still dry." It laughs.

"Who is it that I'm speaking to?" Based on what the voice has said, he can rule out Light Yagami.

"You really don't remember? Well, I'll give you a few hints before I reveal myself. One, I was also in line to succeed L. Two, I ran away from Wammy House after realizing how much of a shitty place it was. And three, I was single-handedly responsible for the murders of four people in Los Angeles."

Near's eyes widen. "It can't be…"

The television's screen contorts until it warps into two capitalized Bs in gothic text and red ink. Then the words begin to bleed. The blood reaches the bottom of the screens where it seeps out and onto the floor of Near's room. He leans over a tower of cards to see a puddle grow.

A bubble forms at the center of the puddle. It expands until it's at least three feet in diameter. Suddenly, it bursts. Near barely blocks blood from flying into his eyes. He's drenched in the sticky, red liquid, as if half of his room. All of his card towers have fallen, and he bites back the anguish that's begun to build within him. When he lifts his head, someone stands before him.

Black hair, a gaunt, pale body, and piercing, crimson eyes. The young man isn't L, but he sure as hell resembles their predecessor to a disturbing degree. Even Near almost mistakes the face for his predecessor.

"Boo."

A chill runs down Near's spine. "B."

"Actually, it's BB. I would remind you never forget that, but you're not going to live for much longer, and I'm pressed for time."

Near wipes some blood off his face and tries to stack a few cards back together to now avail. "So you've come to kill me?" He almost chuckles at the thought.

BB purses his lips and scratches his chin idly. "That, and I'll need what's in your drawer." He gestures with his head. "I think you know what I'm talking about, Nate." The blood on his body begins to harden. He doesn't seem to be shy knowing another man is staring at his naked body. Though, as long as Near has known him, BB has never been discreet.

"It's in the first drawer, under the board," Near says.

BB saunters over to the drawers and follows Near's directions until he collects what he needs. While he's there, he also takes some clean clothes to wear for later. Near had grown a few inches in the years after Kira's end. Enough that BB can fit into his size. Near always had a habit of buying attire a few sizes too large regardless.

BB stuffs the piece of paper into the jeans he pulled out of Near's drawer. "How's that old fart Watari doing?"

"He's dead. He died the same time as L."

BB's eyes widen. " _Really_?" All of a sudden, a burst of laughter spills out of him. He grabs his chest with one hand and claps his palm over his mouth to hold himself back. The reaction is far overdue. "Good riddance. I hated that geezer," he says, coughing from a lack of oxygen intake. "Glad to know he's a rotten corpse. Wish I had seen him die, though."

"He raised us."

"So?" BB's tone deepens. "You think I give a shit?" He picks up the L doll Near had been playing with and turns it around in his hands. "Besides, isn't it natural for children to want to kill their parents?" He pulls the doll's arms so hard, the fabric tears.

Near sits on the question, letting it sink in and digest inside of him. "It would have to depend on the relationship and the justifications behind said relationship. For example, if a father strikes his son—"

"Don't try to weasel around the truth," BB hisses. "You know as well as I that man deserved what he got. Big Brother didn't."

"L understood the risks," Near counters. "If not for his sacrifice, Mello and I wouldn't have succeeded. I'll always have him to thank."

"Ah, gotcha. L sure had a way of looking out for us, didn't he?" BB tosses the doll and plops down on a stack of fallen cards. "Everything we are will always be traced right back to him."

"Of course, we were trained as his backups."

"Backups," BB echoes and stifles a laugh. "Is that all we are?"

"Nothing else."

"You sure wanna die, huh?"

Near collects the doll and tends to the rip across its shoulder. Without the proper utensils he has no way of rectifying it to its former appeal. "I've done my part. I would prefer to live, but seeing as you're here and have the power to kill me, struggling or begging isn't quite, how should I say, my style."

BB grins, impressed. "You always were the brat of the bunch. That much Mello and I could agree on."

Near feels a smile tug at his face. "You two were quite similar. You both admired L to…questionable degrees."

"Don't be like that," BB says. "You wish you could've been like him, too. He's our big brother. We looked up to him."

"I did admire him, yes. But now he's dead."

BB's eyes watch him for an uncomfortable amount of time. "Is that what you think?" He leans forward. Their faces are so close, Near can feel the man's breath tickle his skin. "Do you think he'd stay dead if I'm here alive and well?" His red eyes glimmer in excitement. "The game is about to begin, Nate. I'll finally be able to show L what I'm capable of."

Near shakes his head and sighs. "Even if what you say is true, you'll never be him. Alone, none of us can compare to L."

BB stands up and cracks his neck. "You know something, Nate. I respect your mind and determination, but I've never liked you. You wanna know why? Because you look at everything so analytically. Your world is black and white. Everyone else's world is gray." He opens his arms out wide as if he's about to embrace his brother. Or perhaps he's trying to embrace the air. "But my world is filled with color. Do you know which color is the most beautiful?"

Near presses his lips together. The answer rests on his tongue, but he can't say it. The word forms a sickness in his stomach. If he dares let it out, bile may rise with it.

"Red," BB answers for him.

"So you wished to create a world painted in blood?" Near asks. "If L has returned, he'll stop you."

"Oh, Nate. I hope he does. I really, _really_ do!" He dances around the room. His naked form leaps and bounds in jovial delight. Near has never seen something so erratic since Light Yagami's confession. "Just the thought of L seeing what I've become and what I intend to do to this dull world gets me…" BB stops short near the wall. He leans against it, hunching over like all the contents in his stomach are about to pour out.

Near sits up on his legs.

Instead, a giggle escapes the man's throat. It sounds almost pathetic, like an actor trying to perfect his evil laugh.

Near can't take the sound seriously until it swells and practically shakes the walls.

With BB's back turned, the younger man considers the phone resting on the desk in front of the monitors. All he needs to do is tap a button and at least three security officers will rush in here within seconds.

He slowly leans toward the phone.

BB's laugh abruptly ends, and his tongue clicks. "Now, is that really necessary?" He swirls around, a wicked smile across his face. His petrifying eyes leer at the young man. Every fiber in Near's being freezes solid. The crazed nudist leaps onto him, straddling him against the floor. One hand coils around the younger man's throat. "Let's not be hasty, Nate. I've been quite respectful of you despite our strained history. Besides, calling in your minions is pointless. I can't die by conventional means. If I could, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"I suppose not."

BB releases his throat. Near can breathe just a bit better but not to his fullest. BB remains on top of him and doesn't seem to be interested in removing his weight.

"Are you a virgin?"

The question comes out so casually that not even someone like Near is prepared for it.

BB tilts his head. "Well?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with everything, Nate."

The weight on Near's chest begins to clog the blood flow to his extremities, causing them to numb up. "I am."

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"A twenty-one year old virgin. Not just any virgin—the successor to L, himself—the most powerful man in the world. You could get any amount of pussy for that title alone, Nate. Instead, you sit in here fondling your toys." He takes the L doll again and wiggles it in his hand for emphasis. "Why?"

"I hate the outside," Near admits.

"Hate it?" BB says. "Or, do you actually fear it?"

His heart lurches. Near feels another bead of sweat slip down the side of his face and absorb into his mane of white. His lips part slightly. A world of flame engulfs his vision. Screaming. Crying. Madness. It all hits him at once.

BB smirks and seems to read the answer in his brother's catatonic expression. "I respect your honesty." His hips begin to grind against Near's loins. "Honest men deserve a little compensation." The grinding intensifies until there's tightness in the younger man's jeans. "See? Even geniuses are still human." He slides a hand around Near's neck and the other between the fabric and Near's skin, cupping his fingers around the engorged organ. His smirk thickens. "I think I've found a clue in your pants."

The rhythm builds until the walls tremble. If not for them being soundproof, anyone of Near's neighbors would know what's happening. The impacts become so violent, the monitors rattle.

At the same time, Nears comes inside his pants.

BB removes his wet and sticky hand. He rubs his thumb along each finger and scrunches his nose. The smell isn't to his liking.

"Shame. I had hoped you'd last a bit longer." He rolls off his brother and wipes his hand clean on the other man's shirt. "However, I'm saving myself for someone of higher quality." He winks. "I think you know who I mean."

Near doesn't respond. His mind has become an empty shell. All of the intelligence has been wiped. His eyes remain wide.

BB frowns and then glances to a clock sitting on the desk. "Less than a minute remaining. Guess I'll have to make this last part quick." He ambles over to the puddle still bubbling underneath the monitor screens and fishes out a Death Note. BB turns to the first page. "Nate River, death by erotic asphyxiation at 10:39 PM on January 26th, 2013."

Near lies lifeless, with his eyes forever staring into nothing.

BB adds a smilie face next to his brother's name. "Be happy that you died by my hand. I don't think anyone else would have given you such a generous death." He closes the notebook and returns to Near's cadaver. Running a few fingers down the dead man's face and throat, he feels the warmth beneath Near's skin. His cheeks still have some flush to them. BB's mouth twitches. "Did you know that in some cultures, people eat the flesh of their enemies to gain their power? You won't mind if I partake, will you? Besides, we can't put you to waste. You'll enjoy working for me."

No answer.

"I'm glad we've come to an understanding."

He scavenges the vicinity for a proper kitchen knife but can't find one. Sighing, BB returns to Near and unbuttons his white shirt to reveal his porcelain body. He follows his fingers with his tongue down the sternum until he reaches a soft spot of flesh in the middle of the abdomen. He bites deep, drawing blood and tears a sufficient amount off. The texture is gamey but juicy. With each squelching chew, his strength builds. BB swallows, letting a part of Near absorb into him, giving him the advantage he needs. Memories flow into his brain, narrowly causing it to burst. But BB holds together and accepts the whirlwind of images with open arms and an open mind. These memories will provide him information. They're his power source. Once the flurry of memories quell, BB releases a sigh of satisfaction.

"Now I'll have something to remember you by, my brother." BB wipes the blood from his mouth with the heel of his hand and laps up any remaining with his skillful tongue.

His appetite sated, BB indulges in the finer utilities of suburban life. He takes a hot shower. He washes the blood from his birth away and follows it with his eyes as it swirls down the drain leading to oblivion. Stepping out of the tub, he pats himself dry and dresses in the clothes he had collected from Near's drawers—a red zipped-up sweater, boxer briefs, and jeans.

Before he leaves, a couple of things catch his attention. BB collects the children's book from the floor and the half-eaten bar of chocolate. He takes a bite of the candy and runs through a sheaf of pages with his thumb.

Static.

"L…"

BB looks up at the monitors as one screen morphs to form a gothic W.

"L…we received some static on this line when we tried calling you earlier. What's your status?" the indistinguishable voice asks.

BB notices the wires from the monitors connect to a small speaker on the floor that has been partially hidden by bloody cards. He tosses the book away and lifts the speaker to his lips, sprawling himself out on the floor like a cat.

"This is L. Everything's under control."

 **23 DAYS REMAINING.**


	22. Chapter 22

21\. ANNIVERSARY

* * *

Three years and nothing's changed. The world's still just as crappy as it used to be before divine intervention. Three years ago, everyone was paranoid about walking out of their houses and suffering fatal heart attacks. Today, the most anyone has to worry about is how to make a living on minimum wage.

 _How much longer will I last_?

Matsuda contemplates this over a cold glass of beer. It's his third, maybe his fourth of the night. He can't remember. He takes another gulp, and his mind swims from the alcohol.

The bar is sparse of people and smells of a musky odor. A few pool tables are left empty, and the bartender spends the majority of his hours typing away on his phone. It's a Saturday night. There should be more entertainment, more energy. He had read an ad that Saturday nights are when college-aged students come out to party and drink. Not that Matsuda would _ever_ consider courting a college girl. That sort of behavior would not only have heads turning the wrong way, it would be immoral. On the other hand, he had hoped to divert his attention from the memories polluting his psyche by engaging in harmless flirting with an attractive young woman. But the only occupants are either men, married, or _less_ than ideal. Not even drunk goggles can cloud his judgment.

At thirty-four years old, he still hasn't successfully found his match and settled down. Granted, the economy isn't on his side, so any interest in raising a family would quickly be overshadowed by bills, bills, and more bills until he's drowning in debt. Compensation as a policeman has barely helped him scrape by for the last three years. Even more disappointing is the lack of serious cases he's taken on since the task force was discontinued. Occasionally, he may assist in a homicide or a murder case but those cases are few and far between. There's no meaning in a detective career anymore.

A bell rings. Matsuda notices someone in his peripheral vision standing at the doorway. He waves down Ide, who swiftly joins him at the bar.

"Sorry, I'm late," Ide says, shrugging off his parka and uncoiling his scarf from around his neck. "I see you've started without me. How cruel."

"I'm not as patient as I used to be," Matsuda argues. Then he tosses back the last of his third or fourth beer.

The bartender puts down his phone and greets the older detective with a perfunctory bow.

"Two Bud Lights," Ide says and nudges Matsuda. "Got to catch up to the single kids out here."

Matsuda frowns. "You're one to talk. Forty-three and no wife to speak of."

"Forty-two," Ide corrects.

The younger detective rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Speaking of, is Aizawa-san joining us?"

The bartender places two Bud Lights on the counter in front of Ide. Then he gestures to Matsuda's empty glass, but the younger detective shakes his head and raises a hand. He decides to take a break.

Ide hands the bartender his credit card. "Keep the tab open," he says before taking a sip from one beer and answering his coworker with, "Nah, can't. He's still got shit to do at the office."

"Again?" Matsuda's lost count of how many times now Aizawa has ducked out of a drinking night for either family business or overtime.

"Well, he _is_ the chief of the NPA _and_ he has a family to take care of. We might have crappy jobs but his jobs are crappier." Ide finishes his first beer fast and starts working on his second. "One of them he doesn't even get paid for."

Matsuda purses his lips and nods. "This is true."

Silence wedges between them.

"You know what today is, right?" Ide finally speaks.

"Saturday?"

The older detective gives him a look.

Matsuda leans forward and rests his arms on the bar counter. "You're two days too early. The anniversary is on Monday."

Every year between the 26th and the 28th of January, Matsuda hopes that work will distract him enough from the images that threaten to rot his brain. It's always around this time that he wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and gasping for air as if he's been underwater for an extended period of time. But sadly, no amount of work or psychotherapy can cure the night terrors.

"Still," Ide argues. "This is the day where everything started going to shit. First Mello, then Tanaka, and finally—"

The younger detective puts a hand up to stop him. "If you're going to bring that up, I'll need another drink first." He signals to the bartender, who brings him another round of beer on command. Matsuda makes the contents disappear within a few gulps. The room starts to move.

Ide shifts in his barstool. "Damn, you're making me look bad." Before Matsuda can really register, the older detective has finished both Bud Lights and is working on a third, guzzling it down like water.

Matsuda stifles a laugh. "You're never going to land a wife if you can't even beat me, old man."

"Is that a challenge, you little punk?"

A crooked smile grows on Matsuda's face. "You damn right it is!" He turns back to the bartender. "Yo, two tequila shots. _Pronto_!"

Four…five…six. Hell, who's counting? Matsuda sure isn't when he tosses back his latest shot of tequila and clanks the empty glass onto the counter. The world spins in unorthodox patterns, and he's filled with warmth. He turns back to Ide, who finishes his tequila in two gulps.

"Ha!"

Ide frowns but then burst out into a belly laugh. Matsuda mirrors him, and he has no clue what's so funny, but the feeling is nonetheless refreshing. He throws an arm around his coworker's shoulders. They've both forgotten what day's today.

"Ya…ya know somethin' Ide-san. Ya can be a real ass…but I love ya, man. I really, really do!"

Ide smiles. "I love ya too, ya punk-ass kid."

They hug it out.

Somehow, someway, they end up outside. Matsuda isn't sure if the bartender kicked them out or they left by their own accord. Regardless, he's not ready to go home, and the feeling is mutual based on Ide's expression.

"Yoooo, how's about a trip to dah strip?" Ide laughs at his own rhyme. "Come on, Matsuda. Leeez get some dances."

Matsuda shrugs. "A'right."

Ide, for all his sternness and, in some ways, stiffness, surely knows where to suggest the best entertainment when he's slightly incapacitated. It's like a sixth sense that opens up whenever enough alcohol fills his system. Matsuda is surprised that of anyone at the office, Ide happens to be the only other one interested in utilizing the night's festivities. Not even Yamamoto, who joined their team shortly after the Kira case had been solved, partakes in such recklessness as often as Matsuda or Ide do. In the beginning, Ide was a firm and competent worker. But nowadays, he's become lazier. Perhaps it's partially due to Matsuda's influence. He spends half his workday nodding off and the other half teasing his older cohort about his lack of sexual prowess and pleasurable excursions.

Although Ide's hasn't always been the most pleasant to work with, Matsuda admires his commitment to the job and to their superior, Aizawa. Even before Aizawa climbed the ladder to become chief and Soichirou Yagami's successor, Ide showcased his loyalty well. For that, Matsuda will always appreciate him.

The two policemen stumble into the red light district. The street is lit brightly, as if the holiday season hasn't ended. Again, Matsuda isn't entirely sure how they ended up finding it in their drunken stupor, but they're here and ready for the next intoxicated step.

They pass a love hotel where Matusda catches sight of a man and his much younger escort. She squeezes his arm and presses her buxom chest into his coat, giggling. If her skirt hikes up any more, her ass will pop out. Her stilettos clank against the pavement as they head inside the hotel.

It's been several months since he's had any action. While the life of a thirty-four year old bachelor can have its benefits, the lack of physical intimacy lingers in Matsuda's bones. He tries to blame it mostly on long hours at the office and general fatigue.

"Oi. How's about dis place?" Ide slurs and points to a flashing sign with the name "Gratifying Girls Galore." He makes a suggestive gesture with his eyebrows. "Dees girls are hot as fuck."

Ide may know where to find the red light district but if his tastes are anything to go by he chooses poor quality.

Matsuda wrinkles his nose at the sign and shakes his head. "Nah, dat's boring. We've gotta go deeper." He laughs and hiccups at the double entendre. "I'll show you dah best place in all of Kanto region."

They continue down the bustling street, shouldering through crowds of equally drunk and somewhat belligerent night dwellers. The policemen jostle their way through. If Matsuda and Ide were on duty, they'd have every reason to arrest a handful of these hooligans. But they're not, so Matsuda does his best to quicken his pace whenever he thinks one of them may turn their attention onto him. One precise punch, and he'd be knocked out cold and walking into the office Monday morning with a swollen eye filled with guilt and embarrassment. He'd rather not have any evidence of his outing. He'd hate to see the disgusted look on the chief's face.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Matsuda nudges Ide and nods to a building with the sign _Paradise_ glowing in green capital letters above the club's entrance.

"Hmm, I dunno know if I've ever been here," Ide says.

"Then prepare to be blown away, ya ol' fart."

Ide punches him lightly in the arm.

Two doormen loom at the entrance, checking IDs. When Matsuda hands his off to one of them, the doorman narrows his eyes.

"What the fuck is this?"

"What's what?"

He shows Matsuda his police ID. "You a cop or just trying to be funny?"

"Oh, no, no!" Matsuda fishes around in his back pocket for his wallet and takes out his driver's license. "I'm off duty. I swear."

Ide hooks an arm around his coworker and chuckles. "Yeah, no business tonight. Just all fun in dah sun…I mean, moon."

The doormen exchange looks.

"Fine," the first one says, handing Matsuda's police ID back to him. "But anything funny and we're throwing you out."

The two policemen nod vehemently, pay the entrance fee, and then head inside the double wooden doors.

Entering any kind of club is like losing track of reality. The outside world erases. The smell, the sound, even the taste is different. Matsuda follows a dimly lit pathway up a staircase and into a throng. Smoke mixes within the scene, and, at first, Matsuda thinks he's going blind. Several booths circle each of the twelve small stages. Each dancer seems to be swimming and floating above a large mass of yen. Most booths are overflowing with customers. He shoulders through the crowd to reach any empty booth somewhere in the back. The sign on it reads, "Will return in fifteen minutes."

"Yo, what are we doing back here?" Ide falls into his seat.

"Just wait. Everything else is full."

Ide rolls his sunken eyes. He looks on the precipice of vomiting and sleep. Matsuda isn't sure which.

About five minutes pass when someone comes over and plucks the sign off the small stage. "Sorry for the wait, gentlemen," the woman says with a suggestive wink. "Your wait was worth it. We have a hot new gem for you."

Matsuda sits up. He tries nudging Ide awake, but the older man is very clearly about to pass out.

A half-naked shape drifts out from the crowd. The smoke makes her seem like some angelic creature come out from the abyss. The little amount of attire she does have on consists of a black and purple bra with matching panties, and black stiletto heels. Thick, dark eyeliner and eyeshadow makes her brown eyes pop. She flashes a soft smile, and Matsuda's heart stutters, and blood rushes to his loins. Her hips sway each step she takes. Her hair bounces along with the momentum of her gate. She ascends the stage and wraps polished fingers around the metal pole.

Matsuda leans back. Ide starts snoring beside him, but he pays him no attention to his inebriated coworker. His eyes can't leave her. If they do, he fears she might attract someone else or fade away in the smoke.

She hoists herself off of the stage and spins around the pole like one of the horses on a carousel. Her movements are clean and slow. He's never seen this girl before, but she's learned well and fast in the time since his last sojourn. And he's so glad that she had. The majority of dancers in this club base their routines on sexual gratification. However, this one seems to use her beauty not only for that but also as an art. She's the artist and her body and the stage are her paints and canvas. Perhaps she works as a ballerina in the day. Fluid motions like the ones this dancer pulls off can't be mastered overnight. There's a certain amount of skill and patience that goes into such a dance. She's a welcome change from the regular everyday venue.

When her routine finishes and he's sated her with several thousand yen, he asks her for her name.

"S—Yuri. It's Yuri."

Even a common man knows it's an alias. But Matsuda also catches the small slip-up in between her soft voice and the pounding club music.

"Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Perhaps you weren't looking well enough," she retorts, sitting down on the other side of him from Ide and crossing her legs. One of her ankles rubs against his, teasing him.

Matsuda laughs sheepishly. Alcohol lingers in his system. "So how long have you been working here?"

"About three months." She nods to Ide. "Is he going to need help being escorted out?"

Matsuda waves it off and smiles. "Oh, no, no. He's just taking a nap. Don't worry about him. This happens all the time." Honestly, he's never seen his coworker this far gone before, and a part of him does worry. But he's not yet ready to leave such a beautiful and witty woman unattended. "So where are you from?"

She scoots closer to him until one of her breasts is pressing against his chest. The blood in his loins thickens. Her arm drapes over his shoulders. "I'd like to know more about you. What do you do for a living?"

He licks his lips. If his judgment hadn't been clouded with alcohol, Matsuda might have been smarter with how he responds to her question. "I'm…in law enforcement."

Her eyebrows rise. "So you're a cop?"

"Technically yes, but I'm _off_ -duty."

"An off-duty cop in the heart of the red light district," she says through her serene tone. "What will people say?"

"I won't tell if you won't," he says with a wink.

Yuri giggles and shifts. "Did you happen to work on the Kira case?"

"Yes, actually." He shouldn't have said that. But Matsuda's too entranced by her beauty and the smell of coconut to care about confidentiality. "I was one of the few to catch him."

" _Really_?" She leans in close. Her breath tickles his skin. "Who was he?"

It finally clicks. The images of that day in the warehouse pour back into him like a torrent of rain. Matsuda leans forward and drops his head into his hands. The warmth throughout his lower body dissipates.

Yuri puts a hand on his back. "Hey. Are you feeling all right? Do you need to throw up?"

"N-no," he says, composing himself. "Sorry about that, but I think I should go. Thank you for the d—for your company." He stands and wills Ide out of his unconsciousness. When the older policeman finally wakes, Matsuda throws his arm over his shoulders and wraps another arm under Ide's armpit to hoist him up from the sofa. He turns back to Yuri. "Thanks again. Sorry it couldn't be longer."

Yuri forms a forgiving smile. "It's okay. I hope to see you again."

Outside the club, Matsuda half-carries and half-drags Ide into a taxi. Too afraid to leave his coworker in his precarious state alone, he decides to instruct the taxi driver to head straight for his apartment. Matsuda had hoped he wouldn't have to babysit anyone tonight, but not everything can go his way. And usually it doesn't, so he shouldn't be surprised.

"That'll be 5200 yen," the driver says after parking in front of Matsuda's apartment complex.

He reaches into his back pocket and fishes for his wallet. It's not there. He swiftly fishes into his other back pocket and finds nothing. Matsuda searches frantically for his wallet in his coat pockets. After many failed attempts, he realizes he's lost it.

"Shit," he mutters. It must have somehow fallen out at the club. He should go back, but they're already here at his apartment, and fatigue has caught up to him. Plus, he can't leave Ide alone in such a state.

He has no choice but to use Ide's credit card to pay the driver. Although guilt fills Matsuda, he is letting Ide stay the night at his place, so this should make them equal. He just hopes Ide doesn't wake up pissed on top of his potential hangover. This is turning into the worst night in a long time.

Matsuda carries Ide on his back and up a flight of stairs since the older man has fallen back asleep. He unlocks his door and gingerly plops Ide down on his couch, pulling off his shoes in the process and draping a blanket over him. A sigh escapes Matsuda as he fills a glass of water and picks up a trashcan and places both in front of the snoring man.

He heads into the nearest room, which is practically the same room but with half a wall between them. Matsuda lives in a studio, so the only doors are the front door and the bathroom door. From his bedroom area, he can see his kitchen and Ide's feet.

He peels off his attire and supplants his work pants with boxers. Finally, he falls into his bed, neglecting to brush his teeth but not caring enough to stand back up unless Ide calls him.

With another sigh, he reaches for his phone and searches the Internet for the club's number. The phone rings several times until it goes to voicemail. He ends the call and retries a few more times without success. A curse spits from his clenched teeth before Matsuda finally gives up and leaves a voicemail.

He has no choice but to go tomorrow and pray that nobody has taken his wallet.

A sickness rises in his throat, and Matsuda leans over the edge of the bed, unsure of whether he should race to the bathroom. But it's not alcohol sickness that's risen into his throat.

It's the fear of uncertainty.

The clock reads 2:02 AM.

One day down. Two more to go.

 _God damnit_.

 **22 DAYS REMAINING.**


	23. Chapter 23

22\. TAINTED

* * *

 **A/N** : Hi, guys. For some reason or another, this never posted last week, so I'm posting it together with the new chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

It's that time of the year again. Right after the Christmas décor has been stripped away from the walls and the symphony of jingle bells has silenced. Right after hopeful people visit the shrines to pray for the New Year's good fortune to sprinkle upon them. The holidays have finally gone into hibernation. And every year for the past three years she knows that all the prayers and the good fortune wishes are complete and utter bullshit. People are blind to the reality of their situations—wishing on stars or inanimate objects won't save anyone from future misfortune. She would know. She's thought like them. She's been blinded. Only after her mother died did she finally take the blindfold off.

Another day in paradise means another day of hell.

Today is no different.

Tokyo streets during the night feel just as crowded and claustrophobic as they are during the daytime. The only real difference is the chiller air and the abundance of lurkers. She pulls her coat closer to her body, buttoning any loose buttons and hiking the zipper up to her chin. Her boots clank against the sidewalk. Occasional eyes linger on her. Most of them are from unwanted admirers. So much for subtlety. Anyone is able to hear her from a mile away.

"Excuse me," a middle-aged man approaches her at the nearest bus stop. "May I ask what your name is?"

"Fuck off."

His eyes widen behind his glasses. "Excuse me?"

She leers at him and wedges a hand inside her purse. "You heard me, creep. Fuck off before I call the cops."

His mouth drops. "Well, I…fine." He clicks his tongue and stalks away into the night.

A sigh of relief eases some of the tension inside of her. She releases her grip on the bear mace in her purse. Thank goodness it took just a simple curse to ward him off. She hadn't been so lucky the last couple of incidences.

The bus ride to work is shorter than she'd hoped. It's always shorter than she hopes. Time has never been a friend.

If only she had more time with her father.

With her brother…

With her mother…

Where was time when she needed it most?

Nowhere. That's what.

Time can fall into the deepest ocean trench and drown.

The bus stops a few blocks down from where she works. She could stay on it and wait the ride out, but she doesn't want anyone to know her occupation. To the outside world, it's a shameful existence she leads. But it's one that must be traced in order to survive this shitty life.

She walks at a brisk pace. This part of the city is one of the most daunting. If she had trouble earlier, she'll certainly find more around here. With her head dipped down, she keeps moving. The sounds of faint whistling and howls surround her, but she pays them no mind and continues forward with earnest.

All of a sudden, she notices someone come out of the dark in her peripheral vision. The man grabs her arm and yanks her back.

"Hey, sweet cheeks." His blood-shot eyes bulge. "Damn, you're a _vixen_." He whistles for emphasis. "How's about you come over to Hisashi's place for a while?" He strokes her skin with his thumb. "I promise I'll take good care of you."

"Let go." She tries prying him off. When he won't budge, she snatches the bear mace from her purse and lifts it to his eyes. " _Now_!" she hisses.

He promptly releases her, but the grin on his face holds.

She backs up into what she first thinks is a wall. Two sets of arms grab her, and one coaxes the mace out of her grip.

"Come on, baby," the first man says, grinning. "Don't be shy." He reaches his hand out and hooks a finger between the first button and loop, undoing it. He works on the second one and the one after that before he doubles back in pain, clenching his groin and cursing.

Nobody had been attending to her legs so she did the next best thing. But she instantly regrets it as a fearsome slap slides across her cheek, knocking the wind out of her.

"Should have listened nicely, bitch." He begins working on the rest of her buttons but grows frustrated and pulls any remaining ones apart, several buttons go flying into the air.

This is exactly why the world isn't worth saving. People like this. She shuts her eyes, waiting for when it'll be over.

"Now, that's not very gentlemanly."

"Oi, who the hell are you?"

Her eyes reopen.

The would-be rapist and his goons are staring at a figure standing in the street, hands in their pockets, face obscured by a hoodie.

"Oh, just your average bystander."

"In that case, fuck off."

"Nah, I'm already involved." The figure advances toward them, and his head rises. Red eyes glow beneath the hood. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Earlier you called yourself Hisashi. Why?"

"That's my name, dumbass. Now piss off." He nods to one of his goons who releases her and stalks toward the hooded man.

He remains unnaturally calm. His red eyes shimmer. "Really? Then who's Genzo Kishimura?"

The rapist's goon suddenly hunches forward, clutching his chest and gasping. Spittle drips from his mouth and snot from his nose. He drops to his knees and then topples over onto the ground, unmoving.

"What the fuck?" says the goons' leader, stepping back.

She feels the remaining set of hands on her loosen from shock and seizes the opportunity to swirl around and knee the other goon in the stomach and slip from his grasp. He stumbles a bit but catches himself before he can fall while she gains some space between them.

She should run. Realistically, she would. But a part of her that contains the last amount of honor she has feels the need to thank this person. And another part of her wants to figure out his identity.

"You son of a b—" the rapist is cut off when his other goon suddenly grabs him by the coat, wincing, and then slides to the ground dead. His bloodshot eyes bulge. His mouth hangs open. "W-what's going on?"

"See what happens when you lie, Genzo?" the hooded man says. "Karma comes back to bite you in the ass."

Genzo shrinks back, a sweaty mess of fear and anxiety. "P-please! I'll pay you anything! _Anything_! Just name it!"

A complete contrast to how he was not even five minutes ago. She almost feels sorry for him.

The hooded man nudges her with his elbow. The contact startles her. "What do you think? Decapitation? Car accident? Maybe a mixture of both?" Part of his face comes into view from the streetlight. A crooked smile runs up half his cheek. His eyes, hellish as ever, watch her.

Her heart skips. "Huh?"

"W-w-what are you mumbling about?" Genzo stutters. "I-I told you I'd g-give you anything! J-just name your price!"

"Nah, your fate's already screwed. Ten seconds left."

Genzo shoots his head from side to side. Then he scrambles away into the opposite direction and down a long alleyway, wailing.

"Seven…six… five…"

She watches Genzo reach the far end of the alleyway.

The hooded man raises one hand up and forms a gun with his fingers. "Three…two…one… _BANG_!"

A loud crash, and Genzo's form disappears behind a rushing truck. The eighteen-wheeler screeches to a halt, the abruptness makes the breaks flare and sparks fly. Somehow she knows that Genzo is dead.

"Car accident, it is," the hooded man says, shoving his hand back into his pocket and skipping onto the sidewalk. He nudges one of the dead goons with his foot. "Say, where do you suppose people go to when they die?"

It takes her a moment to come out of the vice-like grip of shock and reply, "I-I don't know. Heaven, I guess."

"Really?" He swirls on the heel of his foot to face her. "Even these guys get to go to heaven?"

"Maybe not everyone," she corrects.

The hooded man bends down and removes something from his pocket. He opens the switchblade and cuts along the goon's cheek in three ways, creating a triangle-shaped incision that he peels off.

She tenses. "What are you _doing_?"

"Preserving the kill."

She blinks.

He stands and rolls the bloody piece of flesh up before tilting his head back. Face still obscured, she can't see his full features. The piece slides into his mouth, and she hears him gulp.

Her stomach churns. He's a damn _cannibal_? All the food inside her threatens to pour out. She cups one hand over her mouth to prevent such and holds her ripped coat together with the other.

The hooded man slowly turns his head and then his body toward her. The red eyes beam with hunger. "Before I kill you, I'd like to know your name."

Name? Why does her name have any importance if he's going to end her anyway? She shouldn't have expected he'd let her go after witnessing him killing three people.

He steps closer. "Well?"

"S-Sayu," she says, her voice trembling. "That's my name."

He stands only inches away from her. She can feel his hot breath on her skin. She waits for her inevitable end. She hadn't imagined dying this night, but if there's no escaping it, then she decides that there's no point in running away either.

Sirens blare in the distance.

"Well, that's my cue." He starts away at a casual pace.

"Wait," she calls. "You're not going to kill me?"

He looks at her one more time with those hellish eyes. A smile crawls back onto his face, but it's different than last time. It's childish and kind. "This'll be our little secret." He presses his pointer finger to his lips and shushes.

Her spine chills as his image melts into the shadows.

His voice and half-obscured face linger in her mind as she leaves behind the scene of the dead goons. The last thing Sayu needs is to be arrested for a crime she hadn't committed. But the images of their faces lurk in her mind. Just like how she had found her mother hanging from the rafter in her parents' bedroom. She shakes away both images to the best of her ability and quickens her pace.

She arrives to work fifteen minutes late. The club is already blaring with music and heat. Her ears ring upon entering the backdoor. Miss Asami's glare, crossed arms, and tapping finger await her.

"What took you so long?" Her purple lips purse in irritation. She taps harder on her skeletal arm. Her breath and fur vest reek of cigarette smoke.

"Sorry, ma'am," she says.

"Just get dressed and get on stage."

 _Don't' you mean undressed_? Sayu snaps back in thought. "Yes, ma'am." She rushes by her boss and into the changing room.

"There you are!" a masculine yet high-pitched voice says.

Before she has a chance to sit, someone grabs her by the shoulders and drags her into a changing room. Sayu nearly elbows Nami in the stomach. Her grip is almost as tight as the two goons' were.

"Quickly, quickly, dearie! You're supposed to be on stage already." Nami starts undressing her until Sayu stands before her naked. Although, Nami was born male, Sayu doesn't cover herself out of shame or embarrassment. They've been through this countless of times, and Nami's never identified herself as male for as long as Sayu's known her. In truth, she's the only person Sayu feels comfortable sharing candid information with.

Nami hands her a matching bra and underwear and then slaps her on the ass. "Oh, this is going to look _fabulous_ on you!"

Sayu wiggles her way into the fabrics while her stylist turns her attention onto Sayu's hair, unfastening the bun and letting her dark tendrils fall loose over the middle part of her back. Once dressed, Nami forces her into a chair, swiftly flying a makeup brush over her face. Sayu had never seen such artistic drive in anyone until she met Nami. The rate at which she works is astounding. And the quality of her resulting canvas is even more so.

Nami finishes gluing Sayu's false lashes on and then claps her hands. Her red acrylic nails tap together. "Perfect."

She helps her into a pair of stilettos and gently pushes Sayu into an adjacent room where smoke encompasses the air, turning the place into a fog. The shapes of customers and coworkers move through the fog like shadows, and pieces of neon lights break through, spinning in random directions. The music blares, pounding in sync with her heart. The heat causes a bead of sweat to slip down her back and dampen her bra.

"Go get'em, pumpkin!" Nami cheers from the door and blows an encouraging kiss her way, fluttering her gargantuan false lashes like a pair of bird wings ready to take flight.

Sayu responds with a perfunctory smile. Once the door closes behind her, she takes a deep breath and exhales most of the nerves that have piled up inside her. Then she descends into the foggy abyss toward her stage. The stilettos are strapped tightly to her ankles. They feel like cuffs restraining her to this prison of sex, drugs, alcohol and madness.

She navigates the room at a slow but sensual pace. Any quick movement might accidentally make a fool of her. Too many slip-ups in the past on these six-inch heels have taught her to be wary of future mistakes. But, as she glides across the hardwood floor, it feels like something's pulling her on strings. Like she's a puppet ready to perform for its puppeteer. Her body works on its own while her mind fills with thoughts of her savior and the dead Genzo and his goons. It feels like a dream.

Those hellish eyes still watch her with a mixture of curiosity and murderous intent. Why didn't he kill her when he ended Genzo's party so swiftly and mysteriously? It's as if he were Death himself, having risen from the underworld to pluck his newest victims from this world and drag their souls beneath the earth. But how did he kill them? Was he working alone? Did he have someone snipe them from afar? But nobody shot the goons. They fell and died of something internal. Poisoned, perhaps? And what of Genzo? How did the hooded man know he'd be killed by a car accident? Was he really working alone? It sounds insane, but the only rational solution she can conclude with is that the entire situation was based on coincidence—from the hooded man's interference to Genzo's death.

Lost in her own mind, she doesn't realize until she feels money drift across her bare skin that she's on stage performing. Her completely nude figure is out for display like a toy in a store. But the one watching her isn't the typical sleazy family man come to sneak out at night while his wife and kids are asleep. Her audience has no ring on his left finger, nor could he be older than thirty (at least, based on his youthful appearance). In a strange way, his expression reminds her of her brother. There's innocence. As if he's been forced here. As if he doesn't want to be here but got lost on his way home. As if he's trying to escape from something or someone. And, for some stranger reason, she feels like she's seen his face before beneath the errant stubble and dark, baggy eyes.

She finishes the last few steps in her routine before collecting her clothes from the stage floor along with what money she can find before sitting down. Part of her job isn't only to dance but also to socialize. If Miss Asami finds out she didn't at least have small talk with the man, she'll be in even more trouble.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"S—Yuri. It's Yuri." _Damn, almost let it slip_.

"Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Perhaps you weren't looking well enough," she fires back, trying not to sound too offensive. Customers like some sass, but they won't pay well for rudeness. There's a fine line between the two. Sayu sits down next to him and notices his sleeping friend on his other side. She can't tell if he's dead or alive, but focuses on the innocent man, flirting with his body by crossing her legs and purposely rubbing her foot against his leg.

His shoulders tense in response. "So how long have you been working here?" he asks after a nervous laugh.

"About three months." She nods to the other man, concerned for his health. "Is he going to need help being escorted out?"

The sober man waves his hands in front of him. A weak smile sits across his face. "Oh, no, no. He's just taking a nap. Don't worry about him. This happens all the time."

She doesn't believe him. Based on his friend's unconscious state and business attire, the men don't get out enough.

"So where are you from?"

The question throws her off for a moment. But this time she makes sure not to slip up. Instead, she opts to turn the tables. If she's learned anything from her line of work, it's that many customers want attention that they don't have at home. Sometimes it's sexual attention (which she evades to the best of her degree), and other times it's nothing more than conversation. Most of the time though, it's a mixed bag.

Sayu thins the gap between their bodies until her breast presses into his chest. His face still has a lingering hint of familiarity. But she has yet to piece together where they've met before. Was he a past customer? A teacher at her university? She can't solve the issue. But asking him for his name may cause an unwanted stir. Defeated, she coils an arm around his neck and rests her hand on his opposite shoulder. "I'd like to know more about you. What do you do for a living?"

He licks his lips. She can tell he's nervous. "I'm…in law enforcement."

And that's when it hits her. This man worked with her father. And now he's seen her naked. Holy shit, what a horrible reunion this has turned out to be. However, his name still can't find its way into her mind, and she can't afford to dawdle either. He may recognize her beneath Nami's thick makeup. The longer she waits, the worse things become. "So you're a cop?"

His eyes briefly trail down to glance her breasts, but he swiftly looks away. "Technically yes, but I'm _off_ -duty."

Not that an off-duty cop isn't dangerous. Sayu needs to be aware of what she says lest he identify her. But she needs to maintain her Yuri façade. "An off-duty cop in the heart of the red light district," she says, smiling. "What will people say?"

"I won't tell if you won't," he says, winking.

The words are almost as chilling as the hooded man's. This night is turning into a startling mixture of coincidences.

She giggles and shifts her weight to preserve her mask. Should she change subjects? No, it's too soon. Nobody would switch from a topic like this without looking suspicious. She shouldn't ask him what she wants to ask him. On the other hand, it may be the only method to help her find some closure. Both her father and brother's deaths remain unresolved. There's a piece of her that yearns to know who's responsible. Besides, it's not the same as staring down Death as she had earlier.

She takes a leap of faith. "Did you happen to work on the Kira case?"

"Yes, actually." He says surprisingly without much hesitation. "I was one of the few to catch him."

Sayu hadn't expected to hear the second bit. " _Really_?" This man knows who killed her father and brother. She needs a name. Just the name will satisfy her. Then this hole in her heart may start to repair. "Who was he?" All professionalism in her has flown out of the window.

His face scrunches up. She shrinks back, realizing that she may have given herself away. Is he going to call someone over? Is he going to say her real name? Shit. She shouldn't have been so careless.

He drops his head into his lap and leans over the sofa. The alcohol must have caught up to him.

Sayu isn't sure what else to do except place a hand on his back. "Hey. Are you feeling all right? Do you need to throw up?" She rubs up and down the curve of his spine, waiting for his response.

He raises his head, and his face has drained of color. "N-no. Sorry about that, but I think I should go. Thank you for the d—for your company." He slides away from her, stands, and slaps his hand against his friend's cheek until his eyes flutter open. When the other man can't gather himself off the sofa, his friend throws his arm around his shoulders and hoists him up. Then he turns back to Sayu with an apologetic smile. "Thanks again. Sorry it couldn't be longer."

Sayu smiles back weakly. "It's okay. I hope to see you again."

No, he can't leave like this. Not went she's so close to the answer she's been chasing for three years. Sayu tries to figure out a way to keep him just a bit longer so she has time to pry out the information she needs from his mouth. However, she's too slow to compose a plan, and he's already heading out the back exit.

When the door closes, she realizes she should ask for his number. Another rule breaking move, but what Miss Asami doesn't know won't hurt anyone. She hurries outside and holds the door open. If it closes, it locks. The January chill hits her nearly naked form like sharp needles, numbing her exposed skin. Her eyes dart everywhere for the two men, but they've melted into the streets like the hooded man had.

"Fuck," she mutters between gritted teeth.

Someone whistles.

Sayu snarls at a bunch of drunken admirers waving to her from down the street. She promptly slams the door behind her and returns to the foggy atmosphere that is the club.

She sits down in the same booth even though she should be on stage performing and adding to her bank. But there's no point in dancing if she's not in a certain mindset.

Her thigh brushes against something.

Sayu notices something wedged in between the cushions. Plucking it out, she discovers a wallet. She opens it and the first thing she sees is the man's face on his ID.

Her mouth drops at the name.

Touta Matsuda.

 **22 DAYS REMAINING.**


	24. Chapter 24

23\. HERO

* * *

During the night, when the moon is at its apex and the streets are dimmest, beasts crawl out of their human forms. They claw and scratch and laugh and howl as they pick apart their prey like a murder of crows. Alcohol taints their breath, and darkness swells in their hearts. They prowl through the alley, unfettered. Evil doesn't originate from the light. Evil comes from the shadows. It is unapologetic and surreptitious.

Their victim is a young boy, abandoned by a family who never wanted him in the first place. With the influence of alcohol and poor judgement, the monsters crowd around the youth, spitting insults at him as they kick and push him into the wall. And oddly, their victim doesn't fight back, doesn't even scream, doesn't bother doing anything that might drawn more attention.

"The kid's probably dead."

"The little shit's homeless. Look at the bones on him." One beast lifts the boy's tattered sweater up to reveal his ribs.

Even if the boy knew how to scream, his pleas would fall on deaf ears. The world has no sympathy for the feeble. There's no good to be found here. The only world he could possibly find salvation is the one beyond the living. And even that won't eliminate years of torment.

Once the beasts have made their rounds, they compose themselves—fixing their neckties and buckling their belts—to form the façades they carry with them during daylight hours. They replace their primal forms with the faces of affluent family men as they have done so many times before. A couple of them reapply their wedding rings to their fingers. The stench of alcohol wavers on their breath. They prepare to take their leave when a figure manifests in their path.

"Who the hell are you?"

The boy looks up from the cold ground and past his assailants. Shaken and demoralized, he has no strength to stand.

"You won't live long enough to remember," the hooded figure replies with an amused tone.

The pack of beasts exchanges looks. Guffaws burst from all of them until they sound like a symphony of hyenas.

"Get the fuck out of our way," one of the beasts steps forward and grabs the figure by the collar, pushing him against the wall. His hood slips off upon impact to reveal a forest of dark hair and pasty white skin.

The beast lifts his fist and it seems like the end for the mysterious man. But the man snatches his fist just as it's about to make contact with his face. The beast wiggles his arm, hoping to break free to no avail. Something snaps. The beast roars in agony, dropping to his knees.

"W-what the fuck did you do?" In the dim light, his right hand hangs limp. A bone in his wrist protrudes out. "Who do you think you _are_?"

"I told you, you won't live long enough to remember." He raises his head and faces the others. "Who's next?"

Another beast nudges his accomplice. "Let's just go the other way."

The rest of the pack step back together and turn, only to meet the same man at the other end of the alley.

"Did he just teleport?"

"Maybe they're two of them," one beast says, looking behind them.

"You're not leaving," the man says, raising his head to reveal a pair of red eyes beneath the curtain of black hair.

"Fuck you, you psycho!"

A chortle escapes his throat. "Oh, am I? And what are you men supposed to be? Married? Rich? Pristine?" The stranger nods to the boy lying on the ground. "What will your wives think when they hear you've preyed on a child?"

Silence wedges in between the pack.

"So who's next?"

"Kill him," someone blurts out.

A grin crawls up the stranger's face. "Thought so."

The boy lifts his head from the gravel. The winter chill has caught up to him. His body shakes uncontrollably. His fingers and toes have gone numb. But what he witnesses makes the blood in his veins pump warmth. A great shadow hovers above the stranger's head. The pack of beasts halts. The boy notices the shadow is a pair of black wings that reach out like arms to snatch the beasts.

The pack shrinks back screaming profanities and hastily turning around. They're capsized by a fierce gust of wind. A few of them hit the ground so hard, their heads split open and blood pours out.

"What the actual _FUUU—_?"

"He's a fuckin' monster!"

"Monster?" The stranger shakes his head and takes a few idle steps forward. "Actually, I'm the exterminator, and you're all roaches." He gestures with his head to the beast with a broken wrist.

The beast rises from his agony with little effort, as if someone were pulling him to his feet like a puppet on strings. He saunters over to the nearest pack member and removes something from his back pocket. The boy can't attain a sufficient angle before the real screaming starts.

The beast's arm lifts and falls at a quick pace. Each time it falls, the screaming rises in pitch for a second. When the screaming dies, the beast stands and ambles over to the next stunned pack member and follows the same protocol at the first one. Eventually, all five other pack members have received the same level of care and attention. The sixth beast stands last and lifts his hand to his throat. Something glimmers in the faint moonlight. A blade slides across his skin, creating an incision from ear to ear. Dark blood pours out, staining his collar. He slumps to the ground. The weapon clanks and slides across the gravel, coming to a stop near the boy. It's reachable.

Footsteps approach. A hand lowers and plucks the bloody knife from the ground. "Thought they'd put up more of a fight." A sigh escapes the stranger. "Oh well, this won't get his attention."

He's thinking aloud. Does he know the boy's still alive? Does he care? Does he plan to give him the same treatment?

The boy tenses when the stranger kneels to his level. He feels those demonic eyes inspect him like a piece of meat. If he's to die, he hopes it's quick and with little pain. Though compared to the beating he had endured, anything else seems miniscule.

The stranger hisses something inaudible under his breath. The boy flinches when fingers touch the back of his head. "Too bad. If I had been here sooner, then you might have been saved. But I'm no angel either." He rises and turns.

The boy senses he's about to leave him here a shriveling pile of broken spirit and tainted flesh. But a sliver of courage digs inside of him. He lifts his hand and catches the cuff of the stranger's jeans between his fingers.

"Let go."

He doesn't.

"If you think I came here for you, you're wrong. Just because you're a kid doesn't mean I won't hurt you."

His grip tightens as he tries to form the word. His head rises so his face meets those piercing eyes. He feels like he's talking to the Devil. But the word he tries to articulate is the complete opposite. He mouths, "Hero."

The eyes shimmer, as if taken aback. The stranger lowers to the boy's level once again. "You're stupid to think that of me." The stranger lifts his chin. "And you're even stupider to have that hopeful look in your eyes." He purses his lips. "Maybe I can use you."

His wings flex as his hands slide underneath the boy's naked body and pick him up. The taut arms, though savage in nature and capable of strangling the boy with ease, cradle him like an infant. The stranger's wings flap once, and then they're higher than the surrounding buildings. The world beneath them flies by as they soar through the black night. Where the stranger is taking him, he doesn't know. But the boy presses his face against his savior's chest and shuts his eyes. The once chilling breeze feels refreshing. The soreness across his body wavers. This has to be the first time in a long time that he feels safe.

"Don't get comfortable, kid."

His eyes open. They land at the top of the Tokyo Tower. It feels as if he's on top of the highest mountain peak overlooking the world. City lights sparkle like stars, and the distant sounds of car horns blaring catch in the wind.

"What's your name?"

The boy opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

"I take it from your lack of speech, you don't have one," the stranger says. "Family?"

The boy shakes his head. At least he's capable of communicating that much information.

His savior's grin resurfaces. "Shame. I had hoped someone would come looking for you. The chase makes everything taste sweeter."

The boy cocks his head to the side.

"I'm not your father," the stranger says with a bite in his tone. "I'm not your guardian or friend or hero. I'm not here to babysit you or raise you. But I can give you a purpose. You have a choice." He steps to the edge. "Accept that you're nothing more than a tool for me to use, or reject my offer, and I drop you."

The boy's heart stutters. The lovely view of the city at night dissolves beneath a sickening twist in his stomach. Earlier, he had yearned for a quick death. But now that the option rests in front of him, he hesitates. Fear pricks at his thoughts.

"Well?"

He meets the fearsome gaze and presses his cheek back into the stranger's chest. His fingers clench his savior's hoodie so tight that his knuckles turn white. A meek whimper arises in his throat.

"You've made a poor decision."

The stranger steps away from the edge, his wings folding to form a protective barrier between the boy and the elements. The black feathers brush against the boy's skin, encasing him in a warm embrace.

"Since you can't speak, I want you to repeat what I say to yourself in your mind. Blink twice after you do. Understand?"

The boy nods.

"You're nothing."

 _I am nothing._ He blinks.

"You have no home."

 _I have no home._ He blinks.

"You're mine."

 _I am yours._ He blinks.

"If you betray me, you die."

 _If I betray you, I die._ He blinks.

"You are a boy without a name."

 _I am a boy without name_. He blinks. Though he's never had a name that's stuck. He's been called many things in the past. However, a name—a form of identification, a personal keepsake that makes him whole—has yet to fall into his lap. Then again, all that has fallen into his lap up until now has been despair and disownment.

The stranger hums something. The tune is upbeat, somewhat ironic given the stranger's behavior earlier. It sounds like a nursery rhyme:

" _There once was a boy without a name,_

 _Who knew no family, only pain._

 _And the boy wandered far and wide,_

 _For he never stayed long, like the tide…"_

The boy listens to the rest of the rhyme. It closes on a shocking note. The boy finds himself crying for the character.

The stranger scoffs. "Crying won't do you any good. If you want to survive as my underling, you're going to have to put your emotions into a box and throw the box overboard."

The boy promptly wipes his face with the heel of his hand and imagines a cardboard box where he places a sheaf of papers with emotions scribbled onto them inside. He picks the box up and tosses it into a black sea. The cardboard box floats at first, until the boy imagines finding a rock to weigh it down and drops it onto the box. He watches his emotions drift into nothingness.

An inexplicable weight lifts from his shoulders. Warmth encompasses the boy's body. The stranger's wings are doing well to protect him.

"Ever heard that story?" The stranger asks in a low voice.

It takes the boy a moment to snap out of his reverie. He shakes his head vehemently.

The black wings curl around the boy tighter as a gust of wind hits them. "Good. It's a terrible story." But then he shakes his head as if disappointed with something. "I read it many times, and I've always hated it."

The story, though tragic, is reminiscent of the boy's life. Wandering day by day with no home to speak of and tainted by misfortune. Who would want him?

"Perhaps I should explain what I'm doing here. There's someone I'm waiting for," the stranger says as his eyes survey the city. "He's someone I've known for many years. I grew up with him, but I grew up as his shadow. Do you know what that means?"

The boy stares.

"I was just a Plan B." A sardonic laugh forms from his throat. "Plan B. Right. How fitting of you L..." His voice grows inaudible. It seems like he's talking to himself again as his eyes continue to watch the world.

The moonlight outlines the stranger's face. His eyes glow like a pair of rubies, and a sudden desire swells inside the boy's heart.

He reaches up to touch the stranger's face. Those red eyes flash back to him. He hesitates until a sliver of courage burrows into his body. Their eyes never stray from one another. If the boy takes his gaze away, he may lose this chance. His fingers spread and stroke along the stranger's cheekbone. His skin's warm against the January chill. Beneath the boy's fingers, the stranger tenses but doesn't recoil or snap at him. The red glow in his eyes wavers, and the boy catches the evidence of a bitter soul trapped in his mortal shell.

 _Beautiful_ , he thinks.

"Are you quite finished?"

The boy lowers his hand.

"Now that we've gotten through the awkward proceedings, why don't we find some clothes for you and some strawberry jam for me."

Despite what he had said earlier in the evening, his words sound oddly comforting. Something appears between his skin and hoodie's zipper. The boy's eyes squint, mistaking it for a shadow at first but soon recognizing it as a notebook.

The clock strikes midnight, and the bell tolls.

The stranger looks back out at the city. "This truly is a beautiful night, K."

 **22 DAYS REMAINING**


	25. Chapter 25

24\. HOMECOMING

* * *

SATURDAY, JANUARY 26TH

There is nothing quieter than the sound of death. And when L Lawliet and Light Yagami had experienced it, they experienced it in shades.

L's death was like a thick poison that had seeped into his lungs and strangled him from the inside. But, despite this, he went far swifter than his adversary.

On the other hand, Light's death was remorseless and determined, like a hunter. It stalked him for many days and nights, but eventually it had found him and cornered him. And no matter how much he kicked and screamed to escape its hold, his end was absolute.

Death does not waste its time on mercy. It comes and it goes like the tide. There's no stopping it, no reversing it, no erasing it.

Until now.

The first thing Light sees upon his rebirth is the blue sky. He sits up from the gravel and examines his surroundings. People walk by him, unbothered by the man lying in the middle of the road on a busy Tokyo intersection.

 _I'm back,_ he thinks. Light stands up and pats himself down. The bullet woulds from when he had been shot are nowhere to be found underneath his black longcoat. Yet, as he comes to terms with his revived body, he can't help but contemplate whether he's a ghost or if the rest of world is just far too preoccupied to acknowledge him.

He tries patting a man on his shoulder for directions, but the man simply looks through him, not over him, _through_ him and waves to someone within the crowd. The other man walks through Light like an open door and the two of them melt into the throng.

"They can't see or hear us," a voice near him says.

Light turns his head sharply to see a familiar face. "Ryuzaki," he says, his tone giving off some mixture of relief and shock at the sight of the pale man.

"You seem upset. Is something wrong?"

Light examines his companion, who had once been his greatest enemy. But now, as his mind grows lucid, he begins to reconnect why they both are standing here together, ignored by the rest of the world.

"Kami. The Shinigami King." Light massages his temples. He hears a voice in his head. It's foreign at first but then gains familiarity the more it echoes his names. "Ryuk. The Death Note."

The pale man approaches him and leans forward. "Have you already forgotten why we're here?"

The memories come at him like a tidal wave. Light remembers a dark place where he had been reborn and given a task. He remembers the great abomination that had given him said task along with a burden—that burden was Ryuzaki as his familiar. Together they have returned to the human world. Light recalls Ryuk's haunting cackle and the Death Note dangling between the Shinigami's long, filthy fingers. Light's full name sat inside it's pages, begging the young man to save it.

Light continues massaging his temples as he answers, "We were given orders by the Shinigami King to retrieve the Death Note with my name in it. Only then would we both be free. But Ryuk took it to the human world. And now we're here." He finally drops his hand. "Is that correct?"

Ryuzaki presses his thumb to his bottom lip. "Yes."

"Okay," Light says through a sigh. "So I haven't lost my mind."

"Yet."

Light ignores the remark and surveys the streets for some hint of recognition. When he was a high school and university student, he frequented these busy streets to and from school, usually with a book in hand to pass the mundane travel time.

"As I said before, nobody else acknowledges us," Ryuzaki says.

"It must be similar to how Shinigami are," Light adds. "You can't see or hear a Shinigami's voice without contact with the a Death Note first." Which means the only plausible way for either Light or Ryuzaki to make contact with the mortal world is to find Ryuk. "Come on, we need to discuss some things." He starts forward and finds a small alleyway less than a block away. Even though the men have the freedom to discuss their plans within a sea of people, the commotion is too distracting. Light pulls Ryuzaki into it by the collar harder than intended.

"Easy there, Light-kun," Ryuzaki says with bite in his tone. "There's no need to be forceful. I'm quite fond of manners."

"Sorry," Light says, releasing his hold, "but this is important. We need to find Ryuk."

"Obviously."

Light presses his lips together and crosses his arms over his chest. "My hunch tells me that he's somewhere in Tokyo."

"And why do you suspect that?"

"Because Ryuk likes a good chase."

Ryuzaki cocks a brow. "Is that really your best assumption?"

"It sounds ridiculous, but I've spent time with Ryuk. Enough time to say that he isn't the type to run. He'd prefer to watch idly from the sidelines and have someone else deal with me." Light paces and accidentally kicks an empty beer bottle. Odd. Though they are both equally invisible to humans, inanimate objects seem to react to them."He's a lot lazier than you'd think."

Ryuzaki remains unflinching. "How can you say that without any leads?"

"We have a lead," Light counters. "Did you know that Shinigami like apples, Ryuzaki?"

His dark eyes narrow. "What?"

"Ryuk loves apples."

"So you're suggesting we search every apple in the entire city of Tokyo for him?" Ryuzaki purses his lips. "I doubt we'll successfully complete such a task given our limited resources."

 _True_. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

The pale men's glazed eyes lower to the ground, as if searching for the answer to Light's question among the empty beer cans and plastic garbage bags. When his gaze rises, he asks, "Do you still have family, Light-kun? Or someone you can trust. Someone you were close with?"

"My mother and sister," Light answers. "But I'm not sure if they are still living in the same house we had."

Ryuzaki begins heading toward the crowded streets of Tokyo. "Then we'd best go and see for ourselves."

"Wait," Light says, halting the other man in his tracks. "What about Ryuk?"

"We set a trap."

"Trap?"

Ryuzaki nods and the slightest smile appears on his pasty face. "If Ryuk loves apples so much, we need to get into contact with someone who has access to apples." He puts his hand up and presses it against the brick wall. His fingertips sink through the structure. "As you can see, we are invisible to things of this world. However, like you, I believe Ryuk won't travel too far. Besides…" In the thin shadow of the building, his eyes start to glow. "I have the ability to sense where your Death Note is. And I have a feeling it's still with Ryuk."

Light blinks. Perhaps this won't be as troubling as he had initially anticipated. "But if humans can't see us, how will my family know we're there?"

Ryuzaki nods to the beer can Light had kicked earlier. "Certain objects seem to respond to us. We may be intangible to the naked eye and to structures, but smaller, lighter objects react to our touch."

Light considers. "I'd rather not get my family involved. This has nothing to do with them." He recalls his father's demise. How he had looked into his son's eyes and believed him not to be the infamous Kira until his last breath. "I don't think my mother or sister will be able to handle my return."

"Would you rather Ryuk fly around with your name imprisoned inside his Death Note?" the pale man asks with a quizzical brow.

"Very well," Light concedes, though still cautious. "Let's go."

The two men weave through countless swarms of people for a time until they give up trying to avoid inevitable contact. Neither man needs to avoid conflict with either humans or cars because it matters not. Even when one of them walks into the street as traffic comes flying toward him, the vehicle passes through him, and the unharmed ghost continues on.

"Instead of my family, we could pick an apple from the store and plant a trap with it," Light suggests as they pass a marketplace.

"Do you really believe a floating apple will go unnoticed with this many eyes in one place?" his companion replies, giving his a sidelong glance.

Light nods. "This is true." He had already considered that issue. But, for some reason, only when he hears Ryuzaki confirm his suspicion does he toss the thought away. In his past life, he'd have only himself to deliberate with and trust. But that was before he had experienced death. Before he had made too many mistakes. Nowadays, he has an extra pair of eyes and ears to bounce ideas off of.

"Ryuzaki," he says, watching the way the pale man's black hair bob off the nape of his neck. "Do you have family?"

Ryuzaki's head turns slightly, but he continues walking ahead of his companion without missing a step. "Not that I remember."

"You grew up in an orphanage. Surely you must have been close to someone there. Or were you all separated from each other?"

"Was I?" Ryuzaki replies, as if he honestly doesn't know. "Who do you think I was close to?"

"Did you know someone named Near?" Light considers the young man's true name. "Nate River," he corrects.

Ryuzaki mumbles the name softly to himself. "It sounds vaguely familiar. Do you know what he was to me?"

"He was your successor. Well, one of them. You were quite fond of variety back when we knew each other," Light almost chuckles. If it hadn't been for Mello and Near's combined talents, he wouldn't be having this conversation with this manifestation of his former rival. "Even I didn't expect there to be another L after you were gone."

Ryuzaki stops at an intersection, as if he's waiting for the traffic to flow by and the pedestrian sign to shine on. As if he's actually human. "Light-kun," he says. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"Were we ever friends?"

The question comes as soon as the pedestrian sign flashes on and people trickle onto the streets. Light and Ryuzaki remain frozen in time as the rest of the world moves along without them.

"I…"

Light remembers siting in front of a monitor screen, typing away code. When he finally breaks away from his duties, he turns to his left and sees an empty chair beside him. On the table in front of the chair rests a lonely piece of strawberry cake. Inside his chest, a black mass grows thick and heavy.

"We…weren't."

The pedestrian sign shuts off, and the pale man dips his head. "I see. That's what I thought you'd say."

And then he starts forward again.

* * *

The men reach Light's house street sometime in the afternoon when the sun has begun to set and the sky has started to darken. Light walks forward, and Ryuzaki falls into step beside his companion.

 _Nothing's changed_ , Light thinks, examining the rows of townhouses closely knitted together, almost as if they are one being. He holds his breath, even though he doesn't need to, as he rounds a corner and sees his house in sight. The gate comes up in front of the men, and Light instantly turns his attention onto the family name carved into the residency's entryway in kanji. He releases the breath he had been holding until now.

"Sakamoto," Ryuzaki answers for him. "You sure you have the correct house, Light-kun?"

"Positive," he says, recognizing everything about the townhouse as his own minus a few cutouts of animal pictures plastered on the windows of his bedroom and a clothesline hanging across a lower balcony. "My family's moved." Oddly, he's relieved. He hadn't planned on getting his mother or sister involved, nor had he wished to. Their interference would've cost him a lot more than what he's already lost trying to regain his Death Note.

"You seem relieved," Ryuzaki says, having noticed.

"Honestly, I am. If we had gotten either one of them involved they may have caused more harm than good."

The pale man's eyebrow rises, and he releases a soft hum. "So you don't care about them enough to trust them?"

Light's gaze returns to the townhouse that once belonged to his family. He had grown up in this very place. The memories he once held dear as a child have since fizzled with age and experience. The first time he moved out of his house was when he had started working with L. His life had shifted so greatly after contact with the Death Note. Light had left his quiet, suburban family behind for a life where he constantly danced on eggshells. His time spent doubling as both Kira and L's right-hand had been so consuming, he rarely ever stepped back into his family's townhouse outside of business or birthdays. There are no personal feelings remaining with this place. Returning now feels like returning to a gravesite.

"Do you want to go inside?" Ryuzaki suggests.

Light chuckles mockingly. "Why would I want that?"

"This is your home, isn't it?"

Light examines the foreign décor around the townhouse. "No, it's just a house." Turning back to his companion, he says, "We shouldn't dawdle. Let's figure out another way to find Ryuk."

The pale man's eyes watch him, as if he wants to say something else. He finally replies, "You're right. Our mission's more important."

With that, both men walk on.

 **23 DAYS REMAINING**


	26. Chapter 26

25\. WARNING

* * *

Matsuda rises Sunday morning to a hangover and a flurry of voicemails left on his phone. He starts from the earliest:

1/27 - 7:01 AM: _Matsuda, it's Aizawa. Call me._

1/27 – 7:45 AM: _Something's up. I'm heading to the station now._

1/27 – 8:13 AM: _Are you even awake? Where's Ide?_

Matsuda scrolls through a dozen more voicemails—the times in between each growing shorter—before he actually decides to check the current time on his phone: 9:57 AM.

"Shit." He rolls out of bed, instantly massaging his temples as his head pounds like a heartbeat. He fills a glass of water for himself and scrambles through his closet for fresh clothes. During this, Ide remains fast asleep on his couch.

Between dressing himself, Matsuda wills his cohort awake. Ide's in an even worse state. The moment his head lifts from the cushion, his hand slaps over his face, and he releases a painful groan.

"Chief needs us at the station," Matsuda says, wiggling into his pants. "It sounds urgent." He kicks Ide when the older man plops back down onto the couch. "Aizawa needs us. _Now_."

If there's one weakness Matsuda knows in Ide, it's that he can never refuse an order from Aizawa. They've known each other longer than Matsuda has known either of them, and their cooperation goes far beyond the limits of a usual partnership—they're true friends.

The two men reach the station half-past ten. They hurry in on Yamamoto, Mogi, and the chief in the middle of a heated discussion.

"Two separate killings in the same night?" Mogi says. "Must be a new record for someone."

"This isn't funny Mogi," the chief snaps. "Kira could be back."

Matsuda pauses in stunned silence. His body feels heavy, and his lips part. Did he hear correctly? _Kira_ is back? No, Matsuda's hearing must be marred from the side effects of last night's poor choices. There's no way that—

"Kira," Aizawa repeats. "I'm fairly certain it's him."

"What about the stabbing incident a few blocks away?" Yamamoto inquires. "You don't suppose they're connected?"

The chief leans his elbows against his table. A sheaf of paperwork sits in front of him. Matsuda catches a few pictures of Light Yagami and Teru Mikami in the pile. "It could be Kira. Nothing else can explain how those three men in the red light district died. According to the information we've received, there were no visible injures sustained on two of them. The third died from a convenient car accident via truck even though the street he was kill on is widely known to be too narrow for larger vehicles." He entwines his fingers together. His brow furrows. "I know it sounds farfetched, Yamamoto, since you joined us after the Kira case had been resolved, but the rest of us are very aware of his abilities."

The megane pushes his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "Still, we can't jump to such a conclusion without proper evidence first."

The chief sighs and nods to Matsuda. "So, you got my voicemails?" he asks with slight irritation.

"I-is it true that Kira's returned?" Matsuda says through trembling lips. A bead of cold sweat drips down the back of his neck. Even three years later, Kira's presence has somehow resurrected from the grave. And it just so happens to occur on the anniversary between Mello and Light Yagami's deaths. How ironically fitting.

"I'm not a hundred percent sure," Aizawa says, "but it's the only plausible lead we have thus far."

"Maybe it's a knockoff," Ide suggests, still tending to his hangover by massaging his temples and leaning against the wall.

Ide could be right. Although Light's dead, he may have left many followers aside from just Mikami behind to succeed him. Just like L had with Mello and Near, Light could have been plotting anything behind the Task Force's backs during the duration between L's death and his own. If not for L's successors, he would still be playing the Task Force like a fiddle—using them as his puppets until their strings broke and he disposed of them. And yet, some inexplicable voice inside of Matsuda tells him on an everyday basis to forgive the past. Forgive Light. But, most of all, forgive himself. Matsuda has never been one to hate people. But he hated Light for a few fleeting moments. He squeezed the trigger again and again, pouring all of his rage and disappointment into each bullet. Had the others not stopped him, he would've plugged the last fiery bullet into Light's brain.

"Maybe," the chief echoes. His eyes narrow at the photo of Light Yagami in front of him. "Mikami died in jail ten days after Light. But given Light's nature, he had several loyal followers including Kiyomi Takada and Misa Amane." He scratches nervously at the stubble underneath his chin.

"But Kiyomi Takada died two days before Light, and Misa Amane died on Valentine's Day of that same year," Yamamoto explains. "How many followers could Kira have?"

"They're just the ones we knew of," the chief counters. "Kira is iconic among the masses. Some cults still believe in his resurrection or reincarnation. You all remember _Kira's Kingdom_ , don't you? Hitoshi Demegawa played the role of a Kira supporter to gain wealth and fame. But for those who actually believed him, there could be someone out there trying to emulate Kira in hopes he might return."

Silence wedges within the room.

"Does this mean someone is using a Death Note?" Matsuda says. The words come out through a cracked, hoarse voice. He clears his throat and shifts his weight on his feet. "You don't suppose Light left one behind?"

"Doubtful," Aizawa replies before Matsuda even finishes. "Do you think we'd still be alive if Light had another Death Note stashed somewhere?"

"True," Matsuda says with a sheepish grin.

If Light somehow had an extra Death Note hidden away, he could've manipulated anyone to store it and use it in his stead. Mikami was only one of several known underlings of Light's. And Mikami's death came at a rather odd time—ten days later. No visible injuries. The police reports said it was caused by cardiac arrest as a result of high levels of stress. But Matsuda didn't believe such nonsense. Not after seeing what the Death Note was capable of. He had once theorized that Near had used the Death Note to oust Light by controlling Mikami's actions, but that was just a theory. Near claimed to have burned all evidence following Light's conviction. Then again, could L's successor still possess a piece of the supernatural notebook?

"However, that doesn't rule out a new Death Note."

All eyes fall back to the chief.

"I still don't fully grasp this whole Death Note business," Yamamoto says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I understand, Yamamoto," Aizawa says, "but you have to trust us. Why would the police, of anyone, lie?"

The megane presses his lips together.

"Has L made any contact?" Mogi asks.

Matsuda feels the heavy weight on him grow. Whenever L's name is mentioned, Matsuda always mistakes it for the L he met nearly a decade ago. He remembers walking into a hotel room expecting to see someone of tall stature and menacing build only to find a gaunt man with a hollow face, sunken eyes and a mane of wild black hair. But "L" is no longer necessarily a form of identification. It's now a form of protection. A single-lettered shield to preserve someone's true self. Only those who've met him in person know L's true self—Nate River. Near.

"That's why I've brought you all here," Aizawa stands and pulls out a television from the closet. Then he rifles around in his pocket and removes something. "I found this in my mailbox this morning." The words, written in English, on the video tape recorder read, "To L's Friends."

A chill crawls down Matsuda's spine as the chief plugs the recorder into the television and presses Play.

The television produces loud static, and Aizawa swiftly turns the volume down to a tolerable level. A ringing follows, and a gothic L appears on the screen.

"Hello, friends," comes the disjointed voice. It sounds unusually cheery. "This is L speaking. The _new_ L."

An umbrella of confusion encompasses the former Task Force members in the room. An uneasy feeling crawls into Matsuda's stomach and churns inside it. He inhales a strained breath and licks his lips.

"I hope you're having a fun day trying to decipher the gifts I laid out for you last night."

"Gifts?" Ide groans, pinching his nose and keeping his eyes shut. He seems on the verge of heaving.

"The murders," Aizawa answers.

Based on their faces, Matsuda can tell that everyone already knows this isn't Near. But how did this faker manage to discover Aizawa's identity and mailbox? How did he or she know the Task Force's connection to L? He runs through a list of potential traitors in both the station and in the SPK, but the trail in his head runs cold.

"You're probably wondering who I am. Well, I'm not Nate River. Oh, I mean, Near. He's dead. I killed him." A mirth chuckle follows.

Shock slams across the mens' faces like a freight train.

 _What the hell is going on_? Matsuda's chest tightens like someone is constricting his body. It doesn't feel real. Near is dead? This has to be a hoax. Someone's playing a sick prank.

"Don't believe me?" the voice asks, as if reading Matsuda's mind. "Maybe this will help. I warn you. He tasted kind of…tangy."

The screen flips to a photo that makes Ide reach for the nearest garbage can and hurl what little contents he has in his stomach. Matsuda is tempted to join him as he stares at the dissected and mutilated remains of what must be Near.

The body has been laid out, spread-eagle and gutted from the hollow of his neck to the groin. His genitals have been removed, and his entrails have been splayed across the ground like party streamers. Bloodstains and something else have darkened his white hair. His deep-set eyes stare out into nothing. A message written in red ink, that could only be blood, sits across Near's forehead.

"Happy birthday?" Matsuda reads out loud.

This no longer feels like a hoax.

After what seems like an eternity, the screen returns to the gothic L. "Now that we've gotten the awkwardness out of the way, I want to tell you all a little story, so buckle up and grab some tissues because it's filled with plenty of feels." The voice clears its throat in a theatrical manner. "Once upon a time, in a far away land known as Winchester, England, there lived three boys, A, B, and L. They were cared for under the watchful eye of their stepfather, W. The boys, though not related by blood, loved each other like brothers—A and B were the same age, while L was called Big Brother L because he was bigger and older. They played together at their house day-by-day, hour-by-hour, until the sun went down. They were inseparable. Nothing in the universe, they thought, could tear them apart.

"Then one day, W took away L during playtime. When A and B asked why he had to leave, W replied, 'His training begins now. Yours will begin later.' And so, he took Big Brother L's hand and brought him inside the house. A and B didn't see him until nighttime, when L crawled back into bed.

"'Big Brother, where have you been?' asked A.

"'Busy,' was all he said.

"'But Big Brother L, we tell each other everything,' B said.

"'Go to sleep,' he said.

"And as the days went on and the times spent with L grew few and far between, A and B became concerned about their older sibling's devolving health and aloof attitude. He no longer ate with them. He no longer slept with them. And, bit-by-bit, he no longer spoke to them.

"'What's happened to Big Brother?' asked A.

"'I don't know, but I'm going to find out,' said B.

"And so one early day, when Big Brother L had been taken out of his bed and led away by W, B followed them. They entered a room, and B cracked the door open to see what was going on. He found L sitting awkwardly in a chair with headphones on and a television in front of him. The screen flashed many horrific images that scared B until he had given away his position. The door flew open.

"'What are you doing here, boy?' W snapped.

'''I-I wanted to see Big Bro—'

"'Go away, B,' L said as he pulled down the headphones and glared. 'Don't ever come back here.'

"And B, broken and betrayed, never did. Not until he was forced to. But that is another story."

Static.

Matsuda blinks. He had fallen so deep into the story that he needs a moment to remember where he is. Police station. The chief's office.

"So whatcha think?" the voice asks, its tone suddenly spry as if it has been rejuvenated from depravity. "Did that make you cry? Am I a good storyteller? Oh, I hope so." It laughs. "But now for why I'm contacting you: I'm here to reunite with Big Brother L!"

The policemen exchange looks. Does this person realize the real L has long since died?

"So until Big Brother L comes out to play, I'm going to keep killing until my birthday. Do you know when my birthday is? I'll give you a hint: It's not this month!" The voice laughs again. "Oh, and if you get in the way of our reunion, I'm going to start killing the people you love." The last part comes out so nonchalantly that it takes an entire breath for Matsuda and the rest to comprehend its level of severity. "But if Big brother L doesn't show his face by the day of my birthday…well, let's just say somebody will be picking a lot more than just apples."

 _Apples_? Matsuda's head pounds, and he winces, wondering if it's the stubborn hangover.

The screen contorts and falls black. The men believe that is it until the voice chortles. "Oh, but I won't leave you out in the dark completely. The chase makes everything more fun, right? So here's a clue: K-U-M-O." Each letter flashes across the television screen in English.

"Kumo?" Yamamoto says, glancing to the others for guidance.

The chief hushes him.

"If you don't figure out the answer by the number of days that there are letters, then I'm going to kill the number of people equal to the number of letters in the word. So you'd better get to work Detective Conan!"

The tape finally ends.

Matsuda wipes the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his sleeve. It seems like forever until someone finally speaks.

"Four days," Mogi say, turning to the chief. "We have four days to solve the riddle and no leads as to who we're dealing with other than the clue."

"We know a few things," the chief says, sitting on his desk and pressing his lips together. "He gave away two key elements aside from L." Aizawa looks to Matsuda. "W and Winchester, England."

Matsuda's eyes bulge. "Wammy House."

Aizawa reaches for the phone on his desk and starts tapping in numbers. "Ide and Mogi. I want you to get into contact with the SPK. Send the videotape as proof. See if Near's death is true." He nods to Yamamoto. "You and Matsuda start deciphering what this Kumo clue means. Go. Now!"

The four other members spring into action, almost falling over each other as they escort themselves out of the chief's office.

Matsuda and Yamamoto separate from Mogi and Ide in the hallway. The youngest members head into Matsuda's office, which sits adjacent from the chief's. The megane rolls a chair up to Matsuda's computer and types the four-letter word into the search bar.

"Kumo has a double meaning in Japanese," Yamamoto says, fixing his askew glasses. "Cloud or spiders."

"But _which_?" Matsuda paces.

Is the perpetrator considering the overcast weather or does he suffer from arachnophobia? Does he plan to kill the weather channel? Reek havoc on the city by releasing deadly arachnids?

What would Light or L think in this situation? If only Matsuda had been born with the mind of either of them—Light or L, it mattered not. They were on equal footing. The world's two greatest minds had been in constant conflict throughout their relationship. Matsuda laments how wonderful it would have been had Light never chosen the path of darkness. If only he had joined with L for real, they could've created what may be the equivalent of a perfect world—a world were good and evil balance each other out but one never overwhelms the other. If not for the Death Note's pollution, they would both still be here, easily divulging the meaning of this word, Kumo.

Matsuda runs a hand down his face and sighs. _Kumo. Kumo. Kumo. Clouds. Spiders. Spiders. Clouds._ His eyes open. "You don't suppose that it could mean clouds _and_ spiders?"

Yamamoto's eyes look over the brim of his glasses. "Huh?"

"Maybe clouds in the shape of spiders," Matsuda says. "Or spiders in the clouds. I don't know. It sounds silly."

But ever since the Kira Investigation's foray of supernatural influences, Matsuda has to consider every kind of perplexing and unorthodox suggestion. The spirit of Kira still dwells in many. His memory never truly died. The power of belief may somehow grant someone a fantastical advantage. Thus anything like raining spiders or clouds of spider colonies must be considered.

"You can't be serious," Yamamoto says.

And then there are some, like his younger cohort, who still cling to the realm of reality—with the belief that no supernatural cause could ever find its way into the human world.

All of a sudden, something buzzes against Matsuda's hip.

He gropes around in his pocket and pulls out his phone. And unknown number has contacted him with the message: _Hi. You left your wallet at the club last night. Do you want to come pick it up?_

He had completely forgotten. This new threat has distracted Matsuda from another, more personal, dilemma: he has left his wallet. He can't abandon such a high-risk mission so early in development. But the more he tries to ignore his wallet's absence, the less lucid his mindset becomes. Until he has rectified this small yet pressing matter, he cannot focus on the greater task. Cursing under his breath, he stands and shrugs his coat on. "I have to go. I…I forgot something at my apartment."

Yamamoto looks up from the computer and his mouth drops. "Wait, _what_?"

Matsuda bows his head apologetically and starts heading backward toward the doorway, buttoning his coat as he goes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll keep mulling this over and let you know if I find anything useful. Let me know if you do, too. You can use my computer. I'll be back." He races down the hallway and out the front door, neglecting to inform the chief. But it's best not to tell anyone else. The matter surrounding his wallet is not something to discuss with his boss and coworkers.

Without his license on him, Matsuda resorts to driving as cautiously and meticulously as he's ever done in sixteen years. The Tokyo streets are laden with cars and scores of pedestrians. Every turn he makes with care, fearing he might roll over someone's foot or suffer a fender-bender in the chaos of it all.

He parks a block away from the red-light district. Police vehicles have parked in the same lot, and Matsuda pulls his hood over his head to conceal his face. A paranoid feeling that he might be recognized chills him. Law enforcement is a smaller world than most people think, and Matsuda has been involved in it for some time now—he's familiar with who patrols which streets just as much as patrols are familiar with who he is.

He walks briskly to _Paradise_ and knocks on the front doors with a firm fist, banging them until their hinges shudder.

One door finally opens. A tall man wearing false eyelashes and a silk robe answers, lighting a cigarette between bright red nails. "Something you need, handsome?"

Matsuda straightens his back. "Umm, hi. I was just here last night with one of your dancers…Yumi. No. Yuki, I think." He scratches behind his hood, trying to remember. If only he had a picture of her.

The man takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales smoke through his nostrils. "Yuri?"

"Yes!" Matsuda's head perks up.

"Sorry, she's not working tonight. Come again some other time." He starts to close the door.

Matsuda swiftly wedges his foot in, keeping the door ajar. "W-wait, that's not why I'm here. I left my wallet here last night. Did anybody report it?"

The man's pencil-thin eyebrows rise. "Sorry, doll, but this is a club, not a lost and found. Anything you lose isn't our responsibility."

"Then please let me talk to Yuri."

He shakes his head. "We don't give out our workers' information without their permission. Now remove your foot before I make you." He takes another, longer drag of his cigarette.

"Then at least tell me if this is her number." Matsuda shows the man the message he had received while at work. During his time driving here, he had received a few more texts from the same number that he only noticed now. "Please."

"No can do, doll. That's against the rules." He gestures to Matsuda's foot. "I won't ask nicely again."

Matsuda clenches his jaw and reluctantly pulls his foot out from between the door and the doorframe.

The door remains ajar.

"However, you might want to look for her at _your_ place," the man whispers, shutting the door behind him before Matsuda can respond.

He needs a moment to register the man's last words before flying down the club's front steps and returning to his car. This time when Matsuda drives, he drives with urgency. Luck somehow keeps him from causing a scene, and he reaches his apartment complex without incident.

Matsuda flies up the stairs and wipes sweat off of his forehead with the heel of his hand. He's winded by the time he reaches the second floor.

Someone stands in front of his apartment number, leaning against the railing. His presence alerts her, and she turns her head toward him. Behind a curtain of dark hair rests a pair of wholesome, brown eyes. Ones he hadn't recognized last night beneath a mask of makeup within a hot fog. When their gazes meet, his chest tightens.

"Hello, Matsuda-san." Sayu smiles.

 **22 DAYS REMAINING**


	27. Chapter 27

26\. SHAME

* * *

The last time Sayu saw Touta Matsuda was at her brother's funeral.

She vividly remembers how he had his head down during the entire service, as if he had lost a sibling. Or perhaps he was ashamed of himself. As a member of law enforcement, he had failed to protect someone he cherished as both a companion in arms and as a friend. And the brief moment their eyes met, she couldn't find any sign of light in his. It was like seeing the eyes of a dead man—soulless and drained—reminiscent of a deserted wasteland. She wanted to say something back to him then, something more than just the formal "Thank you for your condolences." Something that placed their differing levels of grief on the same wavelength. To understand each other's pain. To know exactly what each other felt at that moment when they both said goodbye to Light Yagami: brother, friend, and a good person.

Sayu contemplates what to say as she follows her GPS to the apartment complex. At least Matsuda was wise enough to expect to lose his wallet, and, in doing so, wrote his contact information down. Sayu had called the number this morning but received no reply. She did some investigation and discovered where the apartment complex was, so she called the lobby to ask for Matsuda's apartment number. In the process, she had sent several texts to him, hoping that somehow he still had her number locked away inside his phone. Dubious, since she had to buy a new phone about a year ago and lost or deleted most of her contacts, including a heartfelt voicemail left by her father. Now his voice exists in her mind and the memories left behind in home videos of when she and her brother were little.

Sayu knocks twice on Apartment 21. She waits for a little over a minute before trying again, firmer with her fist this time. Still nothing. It's a Sunday, so she would assume he wouldn't be working. But just in case, she checks her phone to see if he has answered any of her texts.

Only one text, and it's not from Matsuda.

1/27 – 11:44 AM: Nami: _Your man's on his way._

Sayu scoffs at Nami's teasing message. When she had told her friend last night about the forgotten wallet, Nami's expression shifted from that of slightly uninterested to, "Oh, so you have a man now?"

"No," she said sharply, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. She turned away before Nami could take notice. It wasn't the first time her friend accused her of having a crush on a man. "He's someone who used to know my father."

"How so?"

"They worked together."

Nami nodded and released a soft, understanding hum. "Did't you say you brother worked with your father as well?"

"Yeah," Sayu replied. "He was even set to take over his position when he died." Though the truth of those words never felt sure to her, especially since their father had always been against Light joining law enforcement.

Their father considered it a cruel field. One he was looking forward to retiring from early within the next few years. Nevertheless, Light pursued a career in justice and law, and their father couldn't argue forever against his son's unwavering determination. Meanwhile, Sayu was on her father's side. She decided to pursue something safe but also lucrative. She decided to pursue something in the healthcare field. She was neither the genius that her brother was nor the competent soldier that her father was, so she took an interest in a career that would guarantee her both a job and her sanity. However, her interest in such a career faltered quite early on when she got kidnapped by the mafia. It ultimately crumbled following the deaths of her father and brother. Now, she can't fathom ever having been interesting in pursing such a path. After all, she couldn't save her mother from her own demise despite the obvious signs.

Sayu leans against the second floor railing, releasing a cloud of transparent breath into the cool January air and watching it dissolve into nothing. She feels her hands grow numb. She had neglected to take gloves with her this morning when she decided to return Matsuda's wallet to him at his apartment. She hikes her coat zipper up to her chin and shoves her hands into her pockets respectively. The bitter January wind still bites at her ears and nose. But strangely the chill helps her think about how she's gotten to where she is now.

Sayu had once been the youngest child and only daughter of Soichirou and Sachiko Yagami, and younger sister of Light Yagami, who was, at one point in time, the top student in all of Japan. A model student, the epitome of all that a father and mother could ask for. But, while Light had every equipment he needed to be the perfect son, Sayu always noticed a lingering distress in her brother's eyes. Even when he was accepted into the same field as their father, a field he had strived to become a part of since she could remember, there was still this emptiness inside him she couldn't quite comprehend. There were many times she had wished to ask her brother if he felt any opposition toward law enforcement or the judicial system in general. However, whenever given the opportunity to reach out to him, she always recoiled her hand. Somehow, she felt a wall between Light and herself—a barrier he had erected long ago, before she even knew it was there. And no matter how often she thought about breaking it down, Sayu knew she could never even form a niche in that wall.

Sayu hears a flurry of footfalls upon the nearby staircase. She turns her head just as a figure comes up. The man leans against the apartment wall, out of breath and flushed in the face. When he lifts his head and wipes sweat away from his forehead, their eyes meet, this time with renowned familiarity and warmth.

"Hello, Matsuda-san," she says with a smile. Her heart skips upon saying his name for the first time since seeing him at Light's funeral service.

Matsuda cautiously approaches, glancing over her shoulder, as if he's on the lookout for backup.

"Hi," he breathes. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

Sayu shakes her head, still holding the smile. "How are you?" she asks because that's the most obvious question to ask, though Sayu dislikes using the obvious to start a conversation.

Matsuda eventually settles his breathing to a normal speed. "I'm well. Sorry I didn't reply to your texts until now. I was at work."

Sayu waves it off. "Oh, no. It's fine. Don't worry."

Closeup, she notices the stubble on his face that he had once kept tame. Perhaps recently he had decided upkeep was no longer a necessity. That, or he's neglected himself in favor of his work. Kind of like how her father would get some times. The life of a law enforcer is strenuous and tiresome. Dark rings encompass the skin beneath his eyes, and she can smell the faint odor of alcohol on his clothes and breath.

Matsuda clears his throat. "So, umm, you have my wallet?"

She had almost forgotten why she had come here. "Oh, right." Sayu rifles through her purse to find the wallet and hands it to him.

"Thank you," he says, accepting it. He doesn't bother to check inside. Perhaps he trusts her enough as Light's sister not to assume she'd steal anything of his. Not that she had taken any of his money or IDs anyway.

During the exchange, their fingers touch for the briefest moment. His skin's warm, unlike hers.

"You're freezing," Matsuda says, having noticed. "Do you want to come inside for a bit?" He shoves a hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a chain of keys.

"Oh, no. It's fine. I don't want to bother you more than I have."

"No, it's the least I can do for you coming all this way to bring this to me. Besides, we haven't seen each other since…"

"…since Light's funeral," she finishes.

"Right." Matsuda stares at his keychain before snapping out of his trance and starting work on the doorknob. It unlocks with a _click_ , and he opens it. Then he turns back to her and gestures with a hand. "Ladies first."

Sayu thanks him as she enters.

"P-please ignore any mess," he stutters. "I haven't really cleaned it…I mean, I've been busy with work."

"It's fine."

Truly, the room isn't as messy as he makes it seem. The only evidence of a mess is the overflowing garbage bag that rests in the kitchen area and some dirty plates in the sink. Nothing to the extent that she's been known to leave her apartment in. Sometimes Sayu's so exhausted from work, she easy forgets simple hygienic necessities like cleaning her apartment.

He guides her to the couch, where she takes a seat.

"Would you like anything? Coffee? Tea?" Matsuda asks, shrugging off his coat and heading toward the kitchen area.

"Coffee would be nice. Light with milk, please."

"You got it."

The apartment smells oddly familiar—a musky odor that's neither rich nor obscene. It's the smell her father carried with him every time he came home from work. Sayu is brought back to her old home in the suburbs—the house she grew up in. The house she spent nearly her entire life in. The house she found her mother dead inside. The house she had to leave behind because the memories it held no longer brought her comfort, only pain. She hated the thought of leaving behind what her parents had built for her and her brother, but it was all she could do to try and quell the horrible nightmares she'd wake up to, not to mention the mortgage became out of hand for a young, unmarried woman to handle. Not even her family's life insurance could protect her from the inevitable.

The musky smell in the air soon becomes overpowered by the fresh presence of coffee. Sayu can't recall the last time she's looked forward to a warm cup. She can't even remember the last time she's looked forward to anything.

A few minutes later, Matsuda returns to the living room area, offering her a cup. "Here you go. Hope it's up to par. I'm no barista."

"Thank you," she says, accepting it. "I'm sure it's great." She blows on the steam and takes a sip. Her nose wrinkles, but not from the taste, rather from the heat. "D-do you have water?"

Matsuda quickly pours her a glass and returns with the water. Sayu manages to cool her mouth and throat before the heat becomes unbearable.

"Sorry, I guess it was worse than I thought."

She waits until her throat has healed. "N-no, it was just hot. It tastes fine. Anyway, I'm sorry to have texted you at such a bad time. I didn't realize you were working."

Matsuda puts both of his hands up. "No. It's nothing. Thank you for bringing my wallet all this way. You couldn't left it at the clu—" He pauses. "I mean, your work. I checked there first."

Sayu dips her head. "I should've specified I was coming over, but I wasn't entirely sure you'd be okay with that. I'm sorry, too."

Matsuda chuckles nervously. "Well, that solves the case of the missing wallet!"

During the majority of their conversation inside his apartment, he's maintained eye contact on the ground or somewhere equally as level. Anything but her eyes. Someone else might have suspected him to be shy, but Sayu understands the real truth. The flush across his face gives him away.

"It's okay," she says, taking a far more cautious sip of her coffee. It's still too hot to drink alone so she reaches for the water. "I stopped being embarrassed about my line of work a while ago."

"I didn't mean it—" But she raises a hand to stop him.

"It's fine, really. The only people I'd be afraid to tell are all dead now. I know seeing the former chief of police's daughter in that sort of world is disheartening, but we're all trying to survive nowadays."

He nods understandingly. "True." After a sip of his coffee, he says, "Wait, what about your mom?"

"She died last year."

Matsuda's eyes widen, as expected. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." She waits for him to ask her how her mother died, but he doesn't. "How have you been? Are you still working with the same people in Dad's group?" Sayu can't remember all of them by name, but she can see their faces.

"Yeah, kind of."

Another awkward pause follows.

"Matsuda-san?"

He's busy drinking his coffee. "Hmm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"You said you were a part of the group that brought down Kira. Did he kill my father and brother?"

His expression hardens, and, at first, she expects him to answer her with something vague or even turn the question around on her. He inhales deeply and looks down at the cup in his hands, as if for reassurance. "Yes and no," he admits.

Sayu's shoulders tense, and her grip tightens around the warm coffee cup. "Who killed Light?"

He hesitates.

"Matsuda-san?"

"I—"

Something buzzes.

Matsuda reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He checks the caller ID. "S-sorry. I have to take this!" He stands and hurries into the kitchen area to answer it. "Hello?"

Sayu can hear the conversation from the couch. Matsuda must have been so flustered that he neglected to turn the speaker on his phone off.

"Matsuda, where the _hell_ are you?" A booming voice demands. "Yamamoto just told me you left."

"I-I had to fix something at home. I'll be right back there. Sorry, chief!"

 _Chief_ , she thinks and sees her father's face.

"Get back here now. I have the SPK on the line," the caller snaps.

"Yes, sir!" Matsuda lowers the phone and ends the call.

Sayu narrows her eyes at that last exchange but changes her expression before she can give herself away. "I guess that's my cue," she says as he reenters the living room area.

"I'm sorry," Matsuda says. "I have to get back to work. It's important."

She shakes her head and stands up. "No, I understand completely. Thank you for stepping out to meet with me."

"Of course."

She heads toward the door. "Oh, do you mind if I keep your number in my phone?"

"No, that's fine!" Matsuda smiles.

Sayu mirrors his expression. "See you later, Matsuda-san." The she opens the door to the chilly January breeze.

Back home, the first thing Sayu does is plop herself down on her bed and take out her laptop. She types "SPK" into the search bar. The result shows nothing remotely interesting, minus a K-pop girl group by the name of SKP. She sighs and considers Matsuda's words. Kira was behind her father's death. She had long since assumed that. But who would go after her brother? Could it have been the mafia?

Her heart stutters.

Just imagining the mafia's involvement remains a trigger. It's been over three years since her kidnapping, and yet she still wakes up in the middle of the night to the same horrible faces of those who took her—particularly that blonde-haired man. Mello. Her heart thumps again, and her breath shortens for a moment.

Mello. Could he have killed Light somehow?

No. He couldn't have done it directly, at least. Mello died two days before Light had. She saw the huge fire on the news that day.

Tomorrow will mark three years since she lost her beloved brother. Sayu still remembers the times she'd knock on his door and ask him to help her with her math homework. He'd always have time for her.

Sayu leaves her laptop and heads for the kitchen to fix herself something. Inside the fridge, she finds nothing that will sate her for long.

"Time to go shopping," she says and collects her coat.

As she walks along the Tokyo backstreets toward the main road, Sayu smiles as she remembers Light. She thinks about the kind of person her brother was and could have been. Despite the ounce of despair she sensed in him, he had been born with the genetic jackpot—beauty and brains. The latter of which she knew she could never escape the shadow of. He could have been brilliant. He could have done something nobody else could have. He could've changed the world.

Her throat tightens, and tears begin to well in her eyes.

Sayu slides a hand down her face and sighs. This is the first time she's been emotional in awhile. She thought she had cried herself out following her father and brother's funerals. Not even her mother's death induced as many tears as she had anticipated. She feared she had grown heartless.

Sayu takes another long breath and closes her eyes.

If only she had done something.

If only she could step into her brother's place.

If only—

 _Thud_.

Sayu reopens her eyes and glances around for whatever had caused the sound. Snow, perhaps? Finally, her gaze lowers to something dark lying on the sidewalk a few yards in front of her. She approaches what at first looks like nothing more than an old notebook. But then, for some odd reason, she's convinced to pick it up.

Sayu glances up at the residential building closest to her. _Did someone drop it_? The building doesn't have any open windows or balconies where it could've blown out or fallen off by accident.

Her attention returns to the notebook and the two words written on its cover: Death Note.

She blinks and opens to the first page where a list of rules catches her eye. The first rule sends a chill up her spine as she reads it out loud.

"The human whose name is written in this note shall die?"

 **22 DAYS REMAINING**


End file.
